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COPYRIGHT DEPOSIT. 



E\)t Stutinus' Scries of lEuglislj Classitcs 
OLIVER GOLDSMITH'S 

TRAVELLER 

AND 

DESERTED VILLAGE 

ALSO 

THOMAS GRAY'S ELEGY 
IN A COUNTRY CHURCHYARD 

EDITED BY 

WARREN FENNO GREGORY, A.M. 




SIBLEY & COMPANY 
BOSTON CHICAGO 






Copyright, 1S94, 
By Leach, Shewell, & Sanborn. 

Copyright, 1909, 
By Sibley & Company. 



248497 



l^oQ 






PREFACE. 



The purpose in presenting this little volume is to 
lead our students to an intimate acquaintance with two 
poems that for more than a centnry and a quarter have 
stood with the purest, most graceful, and most pleasing 
productions of English literature. There must be a 
training of the heart as well as of the intellect 5 and few 
writings are so fitted to accomplish this as are these 
masterpieces, beautiful alike in thought and expression. 

No true grasp of literature can be gained without 
a knowledge of its human side, or the author as a 
man. "The Traveller" and "The Deserted Village" 
especially demand this, as they continually reflect the 
feelings and experience of the poet. Goldsmith also 
represents a remarkable circle of men, and has an un- 
usually pleasing and interesting personality. For these 
reasons an attempt has been made to provide for a care- 
ful study of his life. 

So many have dealt with Goldsmith and his works, 
that a writer of the present day can here be but little 



iii 



iy PREFACE, 

more than "a gatherer and disposer of other men's 
stuff." Hence, while aiming at originality in the scope 
of this work, and endeavoring to secure it in treatment, 
the author has freely drawn his material from the accu- 
mulated mass. ^-r^^.^T^ r>^T?nr\T>v 

WARREN FENNO GREGORY. 

Hartford (Ct.) Public High School, 
November, 1891. 

It now seems advisable to add Gray's "Elegy" to the 
little book which I so thoroughly enjoyed preparing 
fifteen years ago. Little need be said of this immortal 
poem beyond the mere statement of fact that an educa- 
tion cannot be said to be liberal without a familiarity 
^ with it. Its length readily allows the only proper way 
to learn it, — by heart, — as for more than a century and 
a half so many of the good and great have found inspira- 
tion in doing. w F G 
Boston, June, 1909. 



CONTENTS. 



Biographical Sketch ..... 
Literary Productions of Oliver Goldsmith 
Introduction to The Traveller 
Dedication ...... 

The Traveller 

Introduction to The Deserted Village 
Dedication ...... 

The Deserted Village 
Introduction to Notes 
Notes on The Traveller . 
Notes on The Deserted Village 
Biographical Sketch of Thomas Gray 
Elegy in a Country Churchyard 
Notes on Elegy 



1 
16 
20 
22 
25 
41 
45 
47 
63 
65 
72 
79 
82 
88 



OLIVER GOLDSMITH. 

(1728-1774.) 



BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH. 

The life of ^^ Poor Goldsmith," as he has been fa- 
miliarly and affectionately called, illustrates to a singular 
degree the force of family traits. He inherited a com- 
bination of goodness of heart, simplicity of mind, and 
faculty for enjoying the present in a spirit of abandon; 
blended with much shrewdness of observation, a rol- 
licking Irish sense of humor, and a proverbial gift for 
blundering in conversation. This being the case, the 
conditions were right for producing one of the most 
helpless, thriftless, disappointing, and at the same time 
brilliant and lovable of all our authors. 

The place of his birth is usually given as Pallas, 
County Longford, Ireland, the date being Nov. 10, 1728 ; 
and he was the fifth of the eight children of Charles and 
Ann Goldsmith. His father was at this time curate to 
the rector of Kilkenny West, with an income of not 
over £40 annually. In 1730 he succeeded his wife's 
uncle as rector, and settled in the pretty village of Lis- 
soy, having now £200 a year. Little Oliver was sent to 

1 



'I OLIVER GOLDSMITH. 

a '" dame's school " at the age of three, and impressed 
the mistress as being one of the dullest boys she had 
ever met with. At six he was sent to the village school, 
kept by Thomas Byrne, an old soldier who had more 
fondness for fairy lore and tales of war than for the 
usual branches. Such instruction would not make an ac- 
curate scholar of a boy with his imaginative mind ; but it 
cultivated a poetic taste, besides filling him with a burn- 
ing desire for travel and adventure. A severe attack of 
the small-pox broke off his attendance here, after which 
he was sent to a better school. His father's means 
w^ere straitened by keeping an elder son, Henry, at a 
classical school ; but relatives, especially his uncle. Rev. 
Thomas Contarine, helped him to schools which prepared 
him for the University. His school-life was varied ; on 
the one hand, he was careless and dull in all studies re- 
quiring steady thought, while his short, thick, ungainly 
figure, his never handsome features, pitted with the 
marks of disease, and his chronic blundering brought 
him in among the boys for a full share of ridicule, to 
which his natural sensitiveness and self-consciousness 
rendered him all the more liable. On the other hand, 
his fondness for the Latin poets secured kindly attention 
from his teachers, while his generous heart and fondness 
for sports brought the good-will of his mates, even if 
they did at times make merry at his 'expense. 

One of many anecdotes may be introduced here. On 
his way home from his last fitting-school, supplied by 
friends wi^h a horse and a guinea, he determined to play 



BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH. ^ 

the man at an inn. He was sent as a joke to the house 
of a prominent family. These people kindly allowed 
the mistake to go on, so that Goldsmith swaggered 
through the whole performance, only to learn the true 
state of things next morning, to his great mortification. 
He afterwards used this occurrence upon which to base 
his comedy, " She Stoops to Conquer, or the Mistakes of 

a Night." 

College came next ; but his sister Catherine had pri- 
vately married the son of a rich neighbor, and family 
pride prompted his father to raise a dowry of £400. 
This so reduced his resources that Oliver had to enter 
Trinity College, Dublin, as a " sizar," or poor-student, 
who worked in part payment of his expenses, and was 
distinguished by his dress. He felt the humiliation, but 
contrived to be merry in a happy-go-lucky way. He 
was fond of the flute, and played by ear with consider- 
able sweetness. His father died in 1747, but his uncle 
Contarine helped him at times, and he struggled on; 
sometimes writing street^ballads for sale, and again 
pawning his books. His nature fitted him for getting 
into trouble, and he was once admonished for aiding in a 
riot in which a bailiff was ducked and some lives lost in 
the attempted storming of a jail. At another time he 
ran away to Cork after being caned by a tutor for givnig 
a dance in his room. He had no money to go farther ; 
and his brother Henry arranged his return, after which 
he succeeded in taking the degree of B.A. in 1749. 

The next thing was the choice of a profession for the 



4 OLIVER GOLDSMITH. 

idle fellow who was living on his friends, enjoying him- 
self at rustic merry-makings, and learning French from 
priests. He was first designed for the church, and after 
two years of probation was rejected by the bishop. It 
is said that this was for presenting himself for orders 
while wearing scarlet breeches. After trying and giving 
up a tutorship, his relatives raised £50 for him, and with 
great satisfaction, no doubt, saw him mounted on a good 
horse, and starting for Cork to emljark for America, only 
to have him return on a wretched beast and without a 
penny, having lost all in his reckless adventures. Law 
was the next in order, and good uncle Contarine raised 
£50 more to start him as a lawyer in London. He came 
back as usual, after losing his money gambling in Dub- 
lin. The only profession left to try was that of medi- 
cine ; and, supplied again with a moderate sum, he started 
for the medical school at Edinburgh, this time never to 
return. 

After eighteen months of desultory work here, he 
wished to study abroad, and with more money from his 
faithful uncle he arrived in Holland after sundry mis- 
fortunes. A fellow-countryman befriended him in Ley- 
den, but afterwards advised him to leave, as gamblers, 
who were taking all he had, were getting too strong a 
hold on him. He then started for Paris with his flute, 
a guinea, and an extra shirt. He wandered through 
France and Switzerland, chiefly on foot, playing on his 
flute many times to secure food and lodging from the 
peasants. In Italy, the land of music, this would not 



BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH. 5 

avail, and he is said to have taken part in disputes, 
or debates, at universities and convents, where the con- 
testant would be entitled to a supper and a bed. While 
at Padua, where some claim that he took the degree of 
Bachelor of Medicine, while others say that he had pre- 
viously taken it at Louvain in France, his Uncle Con- 
tarine died, and his irregular an 1 scanty remittances of 
money now ceased entirely, so that he retraced his wan- 
derings. 

He arrived at Dover in 1756 in complete destitution ; 
and while his improvidence made all his life a hard one, 
the next live years are peculiarly distressing, being 
wholly devoid of the compensations which his subse- 
quent fame brought. He appears to have sought in vain 
for a place as chemist's assistant, and is said to have 
tried the stage, in a humble way, for a brief period. 
There is no definite account of his life at this time, but 
it is evident that he drifted towards London in a state 
of beggary. Here he is known to have beeij employed 
in a school, and then in a chemist's laboratory. A good 
Quaker physician who had been a fellow-student at 
Edinburgh encouraged him to practise medicine, which 
he did for a time in the suburbs, but unprofitably, as his 
patients were mainly among the poor, and could not pay 
him. His friend. Dr. Sleigh, helped him to a little writ- 
ing for the booksellers ; and a patient who was a printer 
for Samuel Richardson, a rich publisher and also author 
of "Pamela" and other novels, secured for him an in- 
troduction to his employer. Eichardson gave him a 



6 OLIVER GOLDSMITH. 

little work and helped him to make some acquaintances, 
among whom was Dr. Young, author of " Xight 
Thoughts." Another friend was Dr. Milner, also from 
Edinburgh, whose father kept a classical school, of 
which Goldsmith, now giving up medicine, was placed 
in charge during the proprietor's illness. While with 
the Milners he met Griffiths, a bookseller, who published 
the Monthly Review. Goldsmith was given employment 
on this in 1757 at a small salary, and was thus fairly 
started as a literary drudge. He could not long endure 
the exactions of the employer and his wife ; and now 
having a little acquaintance with publishers, he shifted 
for himself, doing any writing that came his way. The 
Milners tried to befriend him again, and secured for him 
the appointment as post-surgeon on the coast of Coro- 
mandel. This was revoked, however ; a second attempt 
to practise medicine proved unprofitable ; he failed to 
pass an examination for a subordinate hospital position 
at the College of Surgeons, and was still in most abject 
poverty. Yet he was continually giving money if he 
had it, or even the clothes from his back and the cover- 
ings from his bed, to those who begged of him. His 
writings were of whatever sort would bring him money, 
and he had as yet produced nothing to bring him into 
prominence. 

In 1759 he published anonymously " An Enquir}^ into 
the Present State of Polite Learning in Europe," which 
he had long been meditating, and in 1760 his " Chinese 
Letters " appeared. The money from these enabled 



BIOGUAPHICAL SKETCH. T 

Goldsmith to change his wretched garret for better 
quarters ; and, what was more, he now drew to himself 
valuable friends, the chief among whom was the eccen- 
tric intellectual giant, Samuel Johnson, afterwards Dr. 
Johnson, who was an autocrat among his literary com- 
panions, and had himself known the most grinding pov- 
erty. Goldsmith's circumstances were indeed better, but 
his habits still kept him in want ; and Dr. Johnson told 
of receiving a message from him saying that he was in 
great distress, and begging a visit as he could not come 
to his friend. Dr. Johnson sent a guinea, and followed 
as quickly as possible to find Goldsmith under arrest in 
his room for arrears of rent. A fi-esh bottle of Madeira 
wine on the table showed how a portion of the guinea 
had already been used. Johnson promptly corked the 
bottle and calmed his excited friend. Upon being in- 
formed by Goldsmith that he had an unpublished manu- 
script by him, he at once examined it and saw its merit. 
He immediately sold this for £60, with which the rent 
was discharged, the landlady receiving an indignant lec- 
ture as well as her money. This manuscript was the copy 
of the '' Vicar of Wakefield," published two years after. 
So much of our remembrance of Goldsmith is associ- 
ated with the immortal " Club " that special mention 
must be made of this. It was formed in 1764, and con- 
sisted of nine members who were to sup together once a 
week at the Turk's Head. Some of the leading ones 
besides our poet were Johnson, already mentioned, 
oshua Reynolds, the eminent painter, Burke, the future 



8 OLIVER CWLDSMITH. 

orator, and Beauclerc, a polished aristocrat, whose ap 
pearance contrasted oddly with that of some others, but 
who had a line literary taste and admired Johnson. To 
these were afterwards added Garrick, the actor, and Bos- 
well, the son of a Scotch laird, who worshipped the 
great Johnson, sticking to him, as Goldsmith said, like a 
" burr," to treasure up his sayings in his memory or his 
note-book, and who has perpetuated the remembrance of 
his eminent friend and made his own otherwise insignif- 
icant name live by leaving the most complete biography 
ever issued. We gain much knowledge of Goldsmith 
from these pages, always making due allowance for the 
narrow-mindedness and jealousy of Boswell, who could 
not appreciate the poet as did the great man whom he 
followed. 

This year, 1764, was the most important one in all 
Goldsmith's literary career. He had hitherto left all his 
writings without signature, but he now brought out the 
'' Traveller " under his own name. The effect of this 
great poem on the public was immediate, bringing its 
author to the notice of those who had not known him, 
and totally changing the estimation of him in the minds 
of those who had. His club-mates were astounded. 
They had recognized ability in the man, in spite of his 
clumsiness in conversation, but now realized that he pos- 
sessed genius, and that of the highest order. AVithin a 
year Goldsmith was called the best poet of his age. Dr. 
Johnson pronounced the " Traveller " the best effort in 
verse since the days of Pope ; while the finest compli- 



BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH. 9 

ment of all came from Miss Reynolds, the sister of the 
painter, who said, " Well, I never more shall think Dr. 
Goldsmith ugly ! " 

With all this success and the attendant social advan- 
tages that came with it. Goldsmith felt that he was 
rising in the world, and revived some of his earlier 
papers in a collection called " Essays by Mr. Gold- 
smith." He also changed lodgings again and lived with 
more pretension, but was still, as ever, often in want. 
No income could have kept pace with the way in which 
his generous and heedless nature would have led him to 
use it. He always gambled more or less, as was the 
fashion, and was rarely successful ; but the sweeping 
charges of Macaulay and others on this point cannot be 
sustained. His disregard of expense, and habit of giving 
at every appeal of real or pretented distress, especially 
to needy countrymen of his own who flocked to him, 
were enough to account for the financial embarrassment 
which followed him, even when he came to earn perhaps 
£400 yearly, a large sum in those days. 

In 1765, when pressed for funds, he wrote, among 
others, the famous nursery tale of " Goody Two Shoes," 
which in its own field has enjoyed as much popularity 
as any of his Avritings. 

He never yet had regarded himself as permanently 
given up to writing ; and now his increased acquaintance 
tempted him to the practice of medicine once more, this 
time in a grand way with all the gayly-colored finery of 
the period, but this was given up in disgust upon find- 



10 OLIVER GOLDSMITH. 

iiig that the apothecary knew more about prescribing for 
a case than he did. As is so often the case, the world 
had settled the question of an occupation, and he never 
again attempted to be anything but an author. 

The fame of the ''Traveller" caused the "Vicar of 
AVakefield " to be issued after lying in the publisher's 
hands for two years. This added still more to his repu- 
tation, and he was now a distinguished man. Enemies 
had arisen, to be sure ; but his social opportunities were 
of the best, although his natural awkwardness, never 
wholly to be overcome except in his wa-itings, and his 
crude earlier life, placed him at a disadvantage. 

He now turned his attention to another style of writ- 
ing ; and his comedy, '^ The Good-ISTatured Man," was 
produced in 1768. Its reception was disappointing in 
many ways. It was a sentimental age, and true comedy 
was not appreciated ; but there w^as a compensation in 
the fact that the total profit was £500, while the 
" Traveller," with all its fame, brought but twenty. In 
a characteristic way. Goldsmith at once used the most 
of this money in fitting up luxurious apartments, and 
was really worse off than ever, as the scale of living he 
adopted, in the hope of continuing to earn at this rate, 
kept him plunged in debt for the remainder of his 
life. 

He was now saddened by the death of his brother 
Henry, a careful scholar and exemplary man, who, after 
his university career, had abandoned thoughts of fame 
to settle down at Lissoy as pastor, and teacher of the 



BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH. 11 

village school, " passing rich at forty pounds a year." 
Oliver loved this brother with all the warmth of his 
heart; and when there had been an opportunity for 
patronage from the Duke of Northumberland, he had 
thrown away his own chances, sturdily disclaiming all 
need for himself, but mentioning his brother, and by 
his natural bungling and diffidence securing nothing for 
either. 

We now come to an episode in Goldsmith's life which 
affords the tenderest memories, and has especially ap- 
pealed to Irving and Thackeray, who of all writers upon 
this poet are from the gentleness of their own natures 
the most truly appreciative. This is his acquaintance 
with the '^ Jessamy Bride," a pet name applied to Miss 
Mary Horneck, the younger of two beautiful daughters 
of Mrs. Horneck of Devonshire. Goldsmith met this 
fine family through his friend Reynolds, and formed 
one of the pleasantest friendships of all his restless life. 
He had at last met people of culture and position who 
could understand him rightly. Goldsmith never openly 
paid addresses to this lady ; but Irving suspects that the 
heavy tailor's charges on record for gaudy costumes 
arose from a realization of his own uncouthness, and a 
desire to make himself attractive in the eyes of one 
he adored. There is something very touching in the 
thought of a hopeless devotion, such as may have existed 
here ; and we well may think that had Goldsmith, with 
his fine appreciation of home-life, always dear to him 
and always denied, been able to win the love of such a 



12 OLIVER GOLDSMITH. 

woman, Ave might now write of a longer and very dif- 
ferent life. It is pleasing to know that years after, the 
^^ Jessamy Bride," an aged but still charming woman, 
the widow of a distinguished general, paid a feeling 
tribute to the memory of her friend. 

In 1768 the Royal Academy of Arts was instituted 
under the patronage of the king and the supervision of 
forty leading artists. Reynolds was its president, and 
received the honor of knighthood, to the great delight 
of the Club ; and the next year Johnson received from 
this Academy the honorary title of Professor of Ancient 
Literature, and Goldsmith that of Professor of Ancient 
History. No salary went with this, and the recipient 
himself wrote to his brother Maurice that such honors 
were to one in his situation " something like ruffles to 
one wanting a shirt ; " but it was a high mark of distinc- 
tion, the greatest of his life. 

In 1770 the "Deserted Village" appeared, bringing 
him one hundred guineas and additional reputation. 
He had now become more at ease in polite society, 
and we soon find him indulging in an excursion to 
Paris with the Hornecks, a journey which must have 
seemed very different from his first vagrant ramblings 
in France. 

In 1773 he scored a triumphal success with his comedy, 
'' She Stoops to Conquer ; " and we should be glad to 
think of him as thoroughly happy with all these laurels, 
but we are forced to notice another side. After his re- 
turn from France, he had sought retirement at a farm- 



BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH. 13 

house to catch up with the work, now fast getting 
beyond him, an all the more hopeless task because he 
was now often paid in advance, and the money would 
be spent as soon as he received it. His devotion to 
work here impaired his health, his pecuniary embarrass- 
ments increased, and there were never wanting envious 
and ill-natured critics, and those who would mortify his 
vanity by practical jokes at the expense of his personal 
appearance. As a relief from all these annoyances, he 
indulged in social excesses upon his return to town, with 
the result of further enfeebling himself. The end was 
coming. 

He now wished to repair his fortunes by a more elab- 
orate work than any he had yet attempted. His dream 
was of a dictionary of arts and sciences, for which Dr. 
Johnson would write on ethics, Burke on politics, Rey- 
nolds on painting, Garrick on acting, and others of note 
on other subjects, while Goldsmith would be editor. It 
was a promising undertaking if carried out, but the 
booksellers shrank from it. It would occupy several 
volumes, and they distrusted both the profit, and the- 
prospect of completion. Then, again, work for which 
they had already paid would be laid aside for it. Disap- 
pointed and no longer as capable as formerly, Goldsmith 
settled down to forced work which was remorselessly 
driving him, and which was more irksome than ever. 
One more awakening of his former brilliancy remains in 
his unfinished poem, " Retaliation," inspired by mock 
epitax)hs written for him by his companions, one of 



14 OLIVEn GOLDSMITH. 

which by Garrick was especially apt, and therefore 
stinging : — 

" Here lies poet Goldsmith, for shortness called Xoll, 
Who wrote like an angel, but talked like poor Poll." 

Garrick received one in return that fully repaid him, 
while the poet's finest effort was saved for Reynolds, 
for whom he had only kindness : — 

" Here Reynolds is laid, and to tell you my mind, 
He has not left a wiser or better behind. 
His pencil was striking, resistless, and grand; 
His manners were gentle, complying, and bland ; 
Still born to improve us in every part, 
His pencil our faces, his manners our heart. 
To coxcombs averse, yet most civilly steering. 
When they judged without skill, he was still hard of hearing; 
When they talked of their Raphaels, Correggios, and stuff, 
He shifted his trmnpet, and only took snuff. 
By flattery unspoiled " 

Goldsmith's work ended here, and worthily, with this 
unfinished line. He sank in a fever, and died April 4, 
1774. Burke burst into tears on hearing the news, 
Eeynolds could work no more' that day, and the con- 
temptuous amusement with which the poor fellow's 
social efforts had often been regarded was lost sight of 
in the general grief. His financial condition (he was 
said to be £2,000 in debt) prevented his having a public 
funeral, but the Club not long after placed a medallion 
with his likeness in Westminster Abbey, beneath w^hich 
was inscribed a noble epitaph in Latin by Dr. Johnson. 



BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH. It 

As a scholar, Goldsmith was superficial and careless 
as a man, we have seen him noble-hearted, but weak and 
erring: but as a literary artist, he remains in the front 
rank for his purity of thought, beauty of expression, 
and power to charm. In discussing his varied life, we 
must not make the mistake of supposing that Goldsmith 
stands alone. The Bohemian existence that he led was 
common among literary workers, and the fact that 
Goldsmith is often singled out as a type of irregular 
life among writers simply results from his being better 
known to us than most others of his time. We can in 
no wise hold his life up for imitation, while, on the 
other hand, there is no call to offer apologies for his 
errors. With his simplicity and native goodness, which 
no accusations on the part of those who charge him 
with envy can refute, his failings are more those of 
the child, which we regard the more kindly for its evi- 
dent inability to care for itself, than those of a culprit 
whom we would censure. Let Goldsmith stand before 
us as he was, w4th no more excuse than his own frank 
nature would have sought. Irving is to be commended, 
who would correct Dr. Johnson's counsel : "Let not his 
faults be remembered, he was a very great man," by 
saying with a truer grasp of human nature, " Let them 
be remembered, since their tendency is to endear." 



LITERARY PRODUCTIONS 

OF 

OLIVER GOLDSMITH. 



"An Inquiry into the Present State of Polite Learn- 
ing IN Europe" (1759). His first work of importance, and 
published anonymously. It was severely treated by critics, and 
is generally considered to liave little merit; but at the time it sold 
profitably on account of the novelty of the undertaking, and its 
wide range. 

"The Bi:E" (1759). A weekly publication, of which only 
eight numbers were issued. 

"Sketches from London" (17G0). Usually spoken of as 
the " Chinese Letters," being a series of letters, more than a 
hundred in number, appearing in the Public Ledger, and purport- 
ing to l)e written by a Chinese visitor to London. A mysterious 
"Man in Black," who gives information to the visitor is some- 
times identified with Goldsmith, and sometimes with his father, 
but is probably not definitely intended for either. It was Gold- 
smith's habit to draw characters from his own knowledge rather 
than from imagination, and in this way family likenesses often 
appear. These letters were collected next year under the title of 
the "Citizen of the World." Their shrewd, yet pleasant, satire 
upon the follies and evils of society commanded attention, and 
subsequent years have proven tlie wisdom of many of his observa- 
tions and protests, which were imappreciated at the time. 

"History of England" (1763). In the form of a series of 
letters from a nobleman to his son. A compilation of existing 

16 



LITER An Y PRODUCTIONS. 17 

histories, rewritten in a pleasing way. Superficial and often in- 
correct, but so graceful that the letters were at first thought 
to be tliose of Lord Chesterfield. It was even spoken of as' "the 
most finished and elegant summary of English history that liad 
ever been, or was likely to be, written," 

"The Traveller, or a Prospect op" Society" (17G4). 
See introduction to this poem, p. 20. 

• "Essays by Mr. Goldsmith " (1705). A collection of earlier 
anonymous papers made up from various periodicals. 

"The Hermit, or Edwin and Angelina" (1765). A 
shorter poem of great power and beauty published imder the 
patronage of the Countess of Northumberland, thus having an 
Introduction to the world which was of great advantage to (iold- 
smith. It was afterwards printed in the " Vicar of Wakefield." 
It has been called " the most finished of modern ballads." 

"The Vicar of Wakefield" (1766), A tale of domestic 
life in which the credulous simplicity of the good Vicar and his 
family, together with a childish vanity and capacity for enjoying 
the present, regardless of past or future, reflect many traits of 
the Goldsmitli family. It is a story of sustained sweetness 
of character under misfortunes the most crushing tliat can come 
upon a man ; all eventually followed by happiness. The plot 
is strained and unnatural, and the incidents improbable; but it 
is so beautifully expressed with its simple grace and bright 
flashes of humor, especially in the earlier part before the clouds 
thicken, that it has remained one of the gems of literature. As 
a tale of submission in adversity with ultimate reward, it may be 
said to be second only to the Book of Job, Its success was im- 
mediate, and it has been greatly used and admired in France 
and Germany as an English text-book. 

"The Good-N"atured Man" (1768). A comedy illustrating 
many of Goldsmith's own traits. Produced at Covent Garden 
with indifferent success in some respects, but a total profit of 
£500. 



18 OLIVER GOLDSMITH. 

"History of the Eaijth axd Animated Nature" (be- 
gun in 1769). This was to be a work on natural history, pro- 
duced for Griffin, the bookseller, in eight volumes of 400 pages 
each. A hundred guineas Avere to be paid for the delivery of 
each volume in manuscript. The series was never completed. 
This work is interesting, but less valuable than liis other writings. 
Facts are confused with the impossible stories of travellers, Gold- 
smith's credulity and lack of accurate knowledge, making him 
an easy dupe. At the same time, it tells in a delightful way 
many a pleasing thing of his own observation. 

"History of Rome" (1769). Designed for students' use, 
anil not the result of original research, but drawn from ponder- 
ous books whose contents were compiled, condensed, and re- 
written in his own easy style, and thus made available for the 
young. In this way great service was done. Though suffering 
more or less from the author's carelessness and lack of thorough 
information, tlie book had so many good points that, like his 
" History of England," it long continued to be a standard. 

"The Deserted Village" (1770). See introduction to 
this poem, p. 41. 

"History of England" (1771). Largely a reproduction of 
his former one. It was well received, some critics declaring that 
English history had never before been " so usefully, so elegantly, 
and so agreeably ei^itomized." 

"She Stoops to Conquer, or The Mistakes of a Xight " 
(1773). A comedy based on blunders of Goldsmith's own. Its 
production at Covent Garden was, after a long delay, secured 
by the aid of Dr. Johnson, to whom the author affectionately 
dedicated the play when put to press. It proved very successful, 
bringing £800, and has lived. 

"History of Greece" (1774). Prepared in the same way 
as his other histories. 

" Retaliation " (1774), An unfinished poem, said to be his 
last work. See Biographical Sketch. 



dL. 



LITER ABY PRODUCTIONS. 19 

"A Survey of Experimental Philosophy" (1776). A 
forced work under the pressure of debt, and needing no comment. 
As Goldsmith published nothing after 1773, the authorshij) of 
this is given on the authority of the publishers. 

Besides these he left many lives of various persons, introduc- 
tions to books, translations, poems, and miscellaneous articles, as 
he was a very prolific writer. These were mostly " hack-work, ' 
done to procure the means of living, or of satisfying his creditors, 
and need no special reviewing here. 

His poems were first brought out in London in two volumes, in 
1780. Plis miscellaneous works were brought out in four volumes, 
in 1801, edited by S. Rose, with a memoir by Bishop Percy. 



INTRODLiCTION TO '^THE TEAYELLEE. 



This poem may have in. a measure been suggested by 
Addison's " Letters from Italy ; " and the writer may 
have been influenced by a remark of the poet Thomson 
in a letter to a friend that " a poetical landscape of 
countries, mixed with moral observations on their char- 
acters and people, would not be an ill-judged undertak- 
ing." However this may be, the poem is peculiarly 
Goldsmith's own — the expression of his most sincere 
feelings and his personal observations; and its j)repara- 
tion is identified with the author's life. 

The work was planned and partly composed during the 
author's wandering tour on the Continent, 1754-1756 ; 
and a portion of it was sent in a crude form from Swit- 
zerland to his brother Henry. It was published in 17(34, 
and was the first work to which Goldsmith placed his 
name. 

The plan of the poem is grand : An English wanderer 
seated among the peaks of the Alps looks down upon 
the various countries spread out before him, recalls his 
travels, and meditates upon the distinctive features of 
the lands he has examined. Ko one offers the complete 
happiness he seeks, and ho comes to the conclusion that 

20 



INTRODUCTION TO ''THE TRAVELLER:' 21 

each man's feelings depend mainly npon himself, and 
that contentment, or its opposite, must find its causes 
within us, and is beyond the reach of government. 
While we may find it hard to accept the reasoning that 
opportunities for happiness are everywhere the same, 
we can all recognize that it is a man's privilege to be 
master of his mind. 

¥ew poems have been so carefully written. It is said 
that the poet's spare moments during the two years pre- 
vious to its publication were spent in patiently revising 
and retouching these lines, until the whole stands as a 
model of skill and taste. 

It is a didactic poem in which the versifier accompa- 
nies the moralist at every step without ever losing the 
grace and beauty of his own especial province. 



TO THE 

KEY. HENEY GOLDSMITH. 

Dear Sir, — 

I am sensible that the friendship between us can 
acquire no new force from the ceremonies of a dedica- 
tion ; and perhaps it demands an excuse thus to prefix 
your name to my attempts, which you decline giving 
with your own. But as a part of this poem was for- 
merly written to you from Switzerland, the whole can 
now with propriety be inscribed only to you. It will 
also throw a light upon numy parts of it, when the 
reader understands that it is addressed to a man who, 
despising fame and fortune, has retired early to happi- 
ness and obscurity, w^th an income of forty pounds a 
year. 

1 now perceive, my dear brother, the wisdom of your 
humble choice. You have entered upon a sacred office, 
where the harvest is great and the laborers are but few; 
while you have left the field of ambition, where the 
laborers are many and the harvest not worth carrying 
away. But of all kinds of ambition — what from the 
refinement of the times, from differing systems of criti- 
cism, and from the divisions of party — that which 
pursues poetical fame is the wildest. 

22 



DEDICATION TO ''THE TRAVELLERS 23 

Poetry makes a principal amusement among unpol- 
ished nations ; but in a country verging to the extremes 
of refinement, painting and music come in for a share. 
As these offer the feeble mind a less laborious entertain- 
ment, they at first rival poetry, and at length supplant 
her: they engross all that favor once shown to her; and 
though but younger sisters, seize upon the elder's birth- 
right. 

Yet, however this art may be neglected by the power- 
ful, it is still in greater danger from the mistaken efforts 
of the learned to improve it. What criticisms have we 
not heard of late in favor of blank verse and Pindaric 
odes, choruses, anapests, and iambics, alliterative care 
and happy negligence ! Every absurdity has now a 
champion to defend it ; and as he is generally much in 
the wrong, so he has always much to say — for error is 
ever talkative. 

But there is an enemy to this art still more danger- 
ous ; I mean party. Party entirely distorts the judgment, 
and destroys the taste. When the mind is once infected 
with this disease, it can only find pleasure in what con- 
tributes to increase the distemper. Like the tiger, that 
seldom desists from pursuing man after having once 
preyed upon human flesh, the reader who has once grati- 
fied his appetite with calumny makes ever after the 
most agreeable feast upon murdered reputation. Such 
readers generally admire some half-witted thing who 
wants to be thought a bold man, having lost the charac- 
ter of a wise one. Him they dignify with the name of 



24 OLIVER GOLDSMiril. 

poet : his tawdry lampoons are called satires ; his tur- 
bulence is said to be force, and his frenzy, tire. 

What reception a poem may find which has neither 
abuse, party, nor blank verse to support it I cannot tell ; 
nor am I solicitous to know. My aims are right. With- 
out espousing the cause of any part;y , I have attempted 
to moderate the rage of all. I have endeavoured to 
show that there may be equal happiness in states that 
are differently governed from our own; that every stale 
has a particular principle of happiness ; and that this 
principle in each may be carried to a mischievous excess. 
There are few can judge better than yourself how far 
these positions are illustrated in this poem. 

I am, DEAR SIR, 

Your most affectionate brother, 

OLIVER GOLDSMITH. 



THE TRAVELLER 

OR, 

A PROSPECT OF SOCIETY. 



Remote, unfriended, melancholy, slow. 

Or by the lazy Scheldt, or wandering Po ; 

Or onward, where the rude Carinthian boor 

Against the houseless stranger shuts the door ; 

Or where Campania's plain forsaken lies, ^ 

A weary waste expanding to the skies ; 

Where'er I roam, whatever realms to see. 

My heart untravelled fondly turns to thee ; 

Still to my brother turns, with ceaseless pain, 

And drags at each remove a lengthening chain. 10 

Eternal blessings crown my earliest friend, 
And round his dwelling guardian saints attend ! 
Blest be that spot, where cheerful guests retire 
To pause from toil, and trim their evening fire : 
Blest that abode, where want and pain repair, 15 

And every stranger finds a ready chair : 
Blest be those feasts with simple plenty crowned. 
Where all the ruddy family around 
Laugh at the jests or pranks that never fail, 
Or sigh with pity at some mournful tale ; -<J 

25 



26 OLlVEll GOLDSMITH. 

Or press the bashful stranger to his food, 
And learn the luxury of doing good. 

But me, not destined such delights to share, 
My prime of life in wandering spent and care, 
Impelled with steps unceasing to pursue 25 

Some fleeting good, that mocks me with the view, 
That, like the circle bounding earth and skies, 
Allures from far, yet, as I follow, flies, 
My fortune leads to traverse realms alone. 
And And no spot of all the world my own. 30 

E'en now, where Alpine solitudes ascend, 
I sit me down a pensive hour to spend ; 
And, placed on high above the storm's career, 
liOok downward where an hundred realms appear — 
Lakes, forests, cities, plains extending wide, 35 

The pomp of kings, the sliepherd's humbler pride. 

When thus creation's charms around combine, 
Amidst the store should thankless pride repine ? 
Say, should the pliilosophic mind disdain 
That good which makes each humbler bosom vain ? 40 
Let school-taught pride dissemble all it can. 
These little things are great to little man ; 
And wiser he whose sympathetic mind 
Exults in all the good of all mankind. 44 

Ye glittering crowns with wealth and splendour crowned ; 
Ye fields where summer spreads profusion round ; 
Ye lakes whose vessels catch the busy gale ; 
Ye bending swains that dress the flowery vale ; 
Eor me your tributary stores combine : 



THE TRAVELLEB. 21 

Creation's lieir, the world, the world is mine ! 50 

As some lone miser, visiting his store, 
Bends at his treasure, counts, recounts it o'er ; 
Hoards after hoards his rising raptures fill. 
Yet still he sighs, for hoards are wanting still : 
Thus to my breast alternate passions rise, 55 

Pleased with each good that Heaven to man supplies : 
Yet oft a sigh prevails, and sorrows fall, 
To see the hoard of human bliss so small ; 
And oft I wish, amidst the scene, to find 
Some spot to real happiness consigned, 60 

Where my worn soul, each wandering hope at rest, 
May gather bliss, to see my fellows blest. 

But, where to find that happiest spot below, 
Who can direct, when all pretend to know ? 
The shuddering tenant of the frigid zone 65 

Boldly proclaims that happiest spot his own ; 
Extols the treasures of his stormy seas, 
And his long nights of revelry and ease ; 
The naked negro, panting at the line. 
Boasts of his golden sands and palmy wine, 70 

Basks in the glare, or stems the tepid wave, 
And thanks his gods for all the good they gave. 

Such is the patriot's boast, where'er we roam, 
His first, best country, ever is at home. 
And yet, perhaps, if countries we compare, 75 

And estimate the blessings which they share, 
Though patriots flatter, still shall wisdom find 
An equal portion dealt to all mankind j 



28 OLIVER GOLDSMITH. 

As different good, by art or natiiie given, 

To different nations makes their blessings even. 80 

Nature, a mother kind alike to all, 
Still grants her bliss at labour's earnest call ; 
With food as well the peasant is supplied 
On Idra's cliff as Arno's shelvy side ; 
And though the rockj-crested summits frown, 85 

These rocks, by custom, turn to beds of down. 
From art more various are the blessings sent — 
Wealth, commerce, honour, liberty, content. 
Yet these each other's power so strong contest, 
That either seems destructive of the rest. 90 

Where wealth and freedom reign, contentment fails, 
And honour sinks where commerce long prevails. 
Hence every state, to one loved blessing j^rone. 
Conforms and models life to that alone. 
Each to the favourite happiness attends ; 95 

And spurns tlie plan that aims at other ends ; 
Till, carried to excess in each domain. 
This favourite good begets peculiar pain. 

But let us try these truths with closer eyes, 
And trace them through the prospect as it lies : 100 

Here, for a while my proper cares resigned. 
Here let me sit in sorrow for mankind ; 
Like yon neglected shrub, at random cast. 
That shades the steep, and sighs at every blast. 

Far to the right, where Apennine ascends, 105 

Bright as the summer, Italy extends : 
Its uplands sloping deck the mountain's side, 



THE TRAVELLER. 29 

Woods over woods in gay theatric pride ; 

While oft some temple's mouldering tops between 

With venerable grandeur mark the scene. .110 

Could nature's bounty satisfy the breast, 
The sons of Italy were surely blest. 
Whatever fruits in different climes are found, 
That proudly rise, or humbly court the ground ; 
Whatever blooms in torrid tracts appear, 115 

Whose bright succession decks the varied year ; 
Whatever sweets salute the northern sky 
With -vernal lives, that blossom but to die : 
These here disporting own the kindred soil. 
Nor ask luxuriance from the planter's toil ; 120 

While sea-born gales their gelid wings expand 
To winnow fragrance round the smiling land. 

But small the bliss that sense alone bestows, 
And sensual bliss is all the nation knows. 
In florid beauty groves and fields appear, 125 

Man seems the only growth that dwindles here. 
Contrasted faults through all his manners reign : 
Though poor, luxurious ; though submissive, vain ; 
Though grave, yet trifling ; zealous, yet untrue ; 
And even in penance planning sins anew. 130 

All evils here contaminate the mind, 
That opulence departed leaves behind ; 
For wealth was theirs, not far removed the date. 
When commerce proudly flourished through the state ; 
At her command the palace learned to rise, 135 

Again the long-fallen column sought the skies, 



30 OLIVER GOLDSMITH. 

The canvas glowed, beyond e'en nature warm, 

The pregnant quarry teemed with human form ; 

Till, more unsteady than the southern gale, 

Commerce on other shores displaj'ed her sail ; 140 

While nought remained of all that riches gave, 

But towns unmanned and lords without a slave : 

And late the nation found with fruitless skill 

Its former strength was but plethoric ill. 

Yet still the loss of wealth is here supplied i^^ 

By arts, the splendid wrecks of former pride : 
From these the feeble heart and long- fallen mind 
An easy compensation seem to find. 
Here may be seen, in bloodless pomp arrayed. 
The pasteboard triumph and the cavalcade : i^^ 

Processions formed for piety and love, 
A mistress or a saint in every grove : 
B}" sports like these are all their cares beguiled ; 
The sports of children satisfy the child ; 
Each nobler aim, represt by long control, 155 

Xow sinks at last, or feebly mans the soul ; 
While low delights, succeeding fast behind, 
In happier meanness occupy the mind : 
As in those domes, where Caesars once bore sway. 
Defaced by time and tottering in deca}', i<^0 

There in the ruin heedless of the dead. 
The shelter-seeking peasant builds his shed ; 
And, wondering man could want the larger pile. 
Exalts, and owns his cottage with a smile. 

My soul, turn from them, turn we to survey 16 



THE TRAVELLER. 31 

Where rougher climes a nobler race display, 

Where the bleak Swiss their stormy mansion tread, 

And force a churlish soil for scant}^ bread ; 

No product here the barren hills afford 

But man and steel, the soldier and his sword ; 170 

No vernal blooms their torpid rocks array, 

But winter lingering chills the lap of May ; 

No zephyr fondly sues the mountain's breast, 

But meteors glare, and stormy glooms invest. 

Yet still, even here, content can spread a charm, 175 
Redress the clime, and all its rage disarm. 
Though poor the peasant's hut, his feast though small, 
He sees his little lot the lot of all ; 
Sees no contiguous palace rear. its head, 
To shame the meanness of his humble shed ; 180 

No costly lord the sumptuous banquet deal, 
To make him loathe his vegetable meal ; 
But calm, and bred in ignorance and toil. 
Each wish contracting, fits him to the soil. 
Cheerful at morn, he wakes from short repose, 185 

Breasts the keen air, and carols as he goes ; 
With patient angle trolls the finny deep ; 
Or drives his venturous ploughshare to the steep ; 
Or seeks the den wdiere snow-tracks mark the way. 
And drags the struggling savage into day. 190 

At night returning, every labour sped, 
He sits him down the monarch of a shed ; 
Smiles by his cheerful fire, and round surveys 
His children's looks, that brighten at the blaze ; 



32 OLIVER GOLDSMITH. 

While his loved partner, boastful of her hoard, 1^5 

Displays her cleanly platter on the board : 
And haply too some pilgrim, thither led, 
With many a tale repays the nightly bed. 

Thus every good his native wilds impart 
Imprints the patriot passion on his heart ; 200 

And e'en those ills, that round his mansion rise, 
Enhance the bliss his scanty fund supplies. 
Dear is that shed to which his soul conforms, 
And dear that hill which lifts him to the storms ; 
And as a child, when scaring sounds molest, 205 

Clings close and closer to the mother's breast. 
So the loud torrent, and the whirlwind's roar. 
But bind him to his native mountains more. 

Such are the charms to barren states assigned ; 
Their wants but few, their wishes all confined. 210 

Yet let them only share the praises due, 
If few their wants, their pleasures are but few ; 
For every want that stimulates the breast 
Becomes a source of pleasure when redrest. 
Whence from such lands each pleasing science flies, 215 
That first excites desires, and then supplies ; 
Unknown to them when sensual pleasures cloy, 
To fill the languid pause with finer joy ; 
Unknown those powers that raise the soul to flame. 
Catch every nerve and vibrate through the frame. 220 
Their level life is but a smouldering fire, 
Unquenched by want, unfanned by strong desire; 
Unfit for raptures, or, if raptures cheer 



THE TRAVELLER. 33 

On some high festival of once a year, 

In wild excess the vulgar breast takes- fire, 225 

Till, buried in debauch, the bliss expire. 

But not their joys alone thus coarsely flow : 
Their morals, like their pleasures, are but low ; 
For, as rehnement stops, from sire to son, 
Unaltered, unimproved, the manners run ; 230 

And love's and friendship's finely pointed dart 
Fall, blunted, from each indurated heart. 
Some sterner virtues o'er the mountain's breast 
May sit, like falcons cowering on the nest ; 
But all the gentler morals, such as play 235 

Through life's more cultured walks, and charm the way, 
These, far dispersed, on timorous pinions fly. 
To sport and flutter in a kinder sky. 

To kinder skies, where gentler manners reign, 
I turn ; and France displays her bright domain. 240 

Gay, sprightly land of mirth and social ease, 
Pleased with thyself, whom all the world can please, 
How often have I led thy sportive choir, 
With tuneless pipe beside the murmuring Loire ! 
Where shading elms along the margin grew, 245 

And freshened from the wave the zephyr flew; 
And haply, though my harsh touch faltering still. 
But mocked all tune, and marred the dancer's skill ; 
Yet would the village praise my wondrous power, 
And dance, forgetful of the noontide hour. 250 

Alike all ages. Dames of ancient days 
Have led their children through the mirthful maze, 



34 OLIVER GOLDSMITH. 

And the gay grandsire, skilled in gestic lore, 

Has frisked beneath the Ijurthen of threescore. 

So blest a life these thoughtless realms display ; 255 

Thus idly busy rolls their world away. 

Theirs are those arts that mind to mind endear, 

For honour forms the social temper here ; 

Honour, that praise which real merit gains. 

Or even imaginary worth obtains, 260 

Here passes current ; paid from hand to hand. 

It shifts in splendid traffic round the land : 

From courts to camps, to cottages it strays, 

And all are taught an avarice of praise ; 

They please, are pleased, they give to get esteem, 265 

Till, seeming blest, they grow to what they seem. 

But while this softer art their bliss supplies. 
It gives their follies also room to rise ; 
For praise too dearly loved, or warmly sought. 
Enfeebles all internal strength of thought : 270 

And the weak soul within itself unblest. 
Leans for all pleasure on another's breast. 
Hence, ostentation here, with tawdry art. 
Pants for the vulgar praise which fools impart ; 
Here vanity assumes her pert grimace, 275 

And trims her robes of frieze with copper lace ; 
Here beggar pride defrauds her dail}^ cheer. 
To boast one splendid banquet once a year : 
The mind still turns where shifting fashion draws. 
Nor weighs the solid worth of self-applause. 280 

To men of other minds my fancy flies, 



THE TRAVELLER. 35 

Embosomed in the deep where Holland lies. 

Methinks her patient sons before me stand, 

Where the broad ocean leans against the land ; 

And, sedulous to stop the coming tide, 285 

Lift the tall rampire's artihcial pride. 

Onward, methinks, and diligently slow. 

The firm connected bulwark seems to grow. 

Spreads its long arms amidst the watery roar, 

Scoops out an empire, and usurps the shore — 290 

While the pent ocean, rising o'er the pile. 

Sees an amphibious world beneath him smile ; 

The slow canal, the yellow blossomed vale, 

The willow-tufted bank, the gliding sail. 

The crowded mart, the cultivated plain — 295 

A new creation rescued from his reign. 

Thus, while around the wave-subjected soil . 
Impels the native to repeated toil. 
Industrious habits in each bosom reign, 
And industry begets a love of gain. 300 

Hence all the good from opulence that springs, 
With all those ills superfluous treasure brings, 
Are here displayed. Their much-loved wealth imparts 
Convenience, plenty, elegance, and arts ; 
But view them closer, craft and fraud appear, 305 

Even liberty itself is bartered here. 
At gold's superior charms all freedom flies ; 
The needy sell it, and the rich man buys : 
A land of tyrants, and a den of slaves. 
Here wretches seek dishonourable graves^ 310 



36 OLIVER GOLDSMITH. 

And, calmly bent, to servitude conform, 
Dull as their lakes that slumber in tlie storm. 

Heavens ! how unlike their Belgic sires of old — 
Rough, poor, content, ungovernably bold. 
War in each breast, and freedom on each brow ; 315 

How much unlike the sons of Britain now ! 

Fired at the sound, my genius spreads her wing. 
And flies where Britain courts the western spring ; 
Where lawns extend that scorn Arcadian pride. 
And brighter streams than famed Hydaspes glide. 320 
There, all around, the gentlest breezes stray ; 
There gentlest music melts on ev'ry spray ; 
Creation's mildest charms are there combined : 
Extremes are only in the master's mind. 
Stern o'er each bosom Reason holds her state, 325 

With darizig aims irregularly great. 
Pride in their port, defiance in their eye, 
I see the lords of human kind pass by; 
Intent on high designs, a thoughtful band, 
By forms unfashioned, fresh from nature's hand, 330 

Fierce in their native hardiness of soul. 
True to imagined rights, above control ; 
While even the peasant boasts these rights to scan. 
And learns to venerate himself as man. 

Thine, Freedom, thine the blessings pictured here, 335 
Thine are those charms that dazzle and endear; 
Too blest, indeed, were such without alloy, 
But fostered e'en by freedom, ills annoy; 
That independence Britons prize too high, 



THE TRAVELLER. 37 

Keeps man from man, and breaks the social tie : 340 

The self-dependent lordlings stand alone, 

All claims that bind and sweeten life unknown. 

Here, by the bonds of nature feebly held, 

Minds combat minds, repelling and repelled ; 

Ferments arise, imprisoned factions roar, 345 

Repressed ambition struggles round her shore, 

Till, overwrought, the general system feels 

Its motions stopped, or frenzy fire the wheels. 

Nor this the worst. As nature's ties decay, 
As duty, love, and honour fail to sway, 350 

Fictitious bonds, the bonds of wealth and law. 
Still gather strength, and force unwilling awe. 
Hence all obedience bows to these alone, 
And talent sinks, and merit weeps unknown ; 
Till time may come, when, stripped of all her charms, 355 
The land of scholars, and the nurse of arms, 
Where noble stems transmit the patriot flame. 
Where kings have toiled, and poets wrote for fame. 
One sink of level avarice shall lie. 
And scholars, soldiers, kings, unhonoured die. 360 

Yet, think not, thus when freedom's ills 1 state, 
I mean to flatter kings, or court the great. 
Ye powers of truth, that bid my soul aspire, 
Far from my bosom drive the low desire ! 
And thou, fair Freedom, taught alike to feel 305 

The rabble's rage, and tyrant's angry steel ; 
Thou transitory flower, alike undone 
By proud contempt or favour's fostering sun. 



38 OLIVER GOLDSMITH. 

Still may thy blooms the changeful clime endure ! 

I only would repress them to secure ; 370 

For just experience tells, in ev'ry soil, 

That those who think, must govern those that toil ; 

And all that freedom's highest aims can reach 

Is but to lay proportioned loads on each. 

Hence, should one order disproportioned grow, 375 

Its double weight must ruin all below. 

then how blind to all that truth requires, 
Who think it freedom when a part aspires ! 
Calm is my soul, nor apt to rise in arms. 
Except when fast approaching danger warms ; 380 

But, when contending chiefs blockade the throne. 
Contracting regal power to stretch their own. 
When I behold a factious band agree 
To call it freedom when themselves are free ; 
Each wanton judge new penal statutes draw, 385 

Laws grind the poor, and rich men rule the law ; 
The wealth of climes, where savage nations roam, 
Pillaged from slaves to purchase slaves at home ; 
Fear, pity, justice, indignation start, 
Tear off reserve, and bare my swelling heart ; 300 

Till, half a patriot half a coward grown, 
I fly from petty tyrants to the throne. 

Yes, brother ! curse with me that baleful hour 
When first ambition struck at regal power ; 
And, thus polluting honour in its source, 3Jt5 

Gave wealth to sway the mind with double force. 
Have we not seen, round Britain's peopled shore, 



THE TRAVELLER. 39 

Her useful sons exchanged for useless ore ? 

Seen all her triumphs but destruction haste, 

Like flaring tapers brightening as they Avaste ? 400 

Seen opulence, her grandeur to maintain, 

Lead stern depopulation in her train. 

And over fields where scattered hamlets rose, 

In barren solitary pomp repose ? 

Have we not seen, at pleasure's lordly call, 405 

The smiling, long-frequented village fall ? 

Beheld the duteous son, the sire decayed, 

The modest matron, and the blushing maid, 

Forced from their homes, a melancholy train, 

To traverse climes beyond the western main ; 410 

Where wild Oswego spreads her swamps around, 

And Niagara stuns wdth thundering sound ? 

Even now, perhaps, as there some pilgrim strays 
Through tangled forests and through dang'rous ways. 
Where beasts with man divided empire claim, 415 

And the brown Indian marks with murderous aim ; 
There, wliile above the giddy tempest flies, 
And all around distressful yells arise. 
The pensive exile, bending with his woe, 
To stop too fearful, and too faint to go, 420 

Casts a long look where England's glories shine, 
And bids his bosom sympathize with mine. 

Yain, very vain my weary search to find 
That bliss which only centres in the mind. 
Why have I strayed from pleasure and repose, 425 

To seek a -good each government bestows ? 



40 OLIVER GOLDSMITH. 

In every government, though terrors reign, 

Though tyrant kings or tyrant laws restrain, 

How small, of all that human hearts endure,' 

That part which laws or kings can cause or cure ! 430 

Still to ourselves in every place consigned. 

Our own felicity we make or find. 

AVith secret course, which no loud storms annoy. 

Glides the smooth current of domestic joy ; 

The lifted axe, the agonizing wheel, 435 

Luke's iron crown, and Damiens' bed of steel, 

To men remote from power but rarely known, 

Leave reason, faith, and conscience, all our own. 



INTRODUCTION TO "THE DESERTED 
VILLAGE." 



This poem, published in 1770, is the natural com- 
panion-piece of " The Traveller," which it resembles in 
drawing a political conclusion from a poetical descrip- 
tion. It lacks the grandly conceived plan of the earlier 
poem, but is a greater general favorite, because it comes 
nearer the heart. 

The story is of the desolate remains of a country 
village, which was the early home of the poet, and 
to which he had hoped to return, contrasted with 
memories of its former happy condition. Reasons 
are assigned for the change, and there follow general 
moralizings upon it, all closing in a graceful and digni- 
fied manner with " a noble address to the Genius of 
Poetry, in which is compressed the essence of the 
whole." 

The " Sweet Auburn " of the poet is generally ideiiti- 
fied with Lissoy, to which Goldsmith's father removed 
during the infancy of his gifted son, and where Henry 
Goldsmith settled. It has been charged with great 
warmth, especially by Macaulay, that there never was 

41 



42 OLIVER GOLUSMiril. 

such a village in Ireland, and that the poet has confused 
two countries ; but the explanation is easy. Goldsmith 
composed this poem at a pleasant place in the suburbs of 
London where, after reaching prominence, he was accus- 
tomed to go in order to hnd relief from the confinement 
of the city. As he worked, the neatly kept hedge-rows 
of the soft English landscape would insensibly blend with 
the memories of his old home, whose harsher outlines were 
relieved by the glamour of early recollections, and the 
gathering " mist of years." It may be added that Gold- 
smith, Avhile freely drawing from his own life, and the 
scenes of his native land, alwa^^s wrote as an Englishman. 
So little doubt was there, that a Captain Hogan in a great 
measure restored Lissoy, to preserve local features made 
famous by the poet ; and writers like Walter Scott and 
William Black are agreed that no other place could be 
meant. 

Goldsmith had become possessed of the idea that the 
increase of wealth had a tendency to depopulate and 
lay waste the smaller villages, and affirmed that this 
was established by his own observation. In line with 
this is the allusion made near the close of " The Travel- 
ler," which leads up to this poem : — 

" Have we not seen, at pleasure's lordly call, 
The smiling, long-frequented village fall ? 
Belield the duteous son, the sire decp^yed, 
The modest matron, and the blushing maid, 
Forced from their homes, a melancholy train, 
To traverse climes beyond the western main?" 



INTRODUCTION TO " THE DESERTED VILLAGE.'' 43 

His reasoning has been sharply attacked as contrary 
to the principles of political economy, and he no doubt 
wrongly accounted for the changes wrought by emigra- 
tion. Again, he perhaps allowed special instances that 
he may have known, such as Black mentions of a vil- 
lage removed at the whim of an English landlord, to 
stand for a general truth. It is also said by some that 
Lord Robert Napier partially depopulated Lissoy by 
evicting three good families with all their tenants in 
order to fit up his estate as he wished. The report of 
this might be enough to account for the views taken 
in the poem. But it is not worth while to be critical ; 
a poet has the right to form his own conceptions and 
adapt his material. Moreover, it is an emphatically 
sound idea that happy homes are a nation's strength, 
while a contented and prosperous producing class is the 
true basis of society. 

As this poem is the one by which most readers will 
form their estimate of Goldsmith as a writer of verse, 
a few general remarks upon his poetry will be in order. 
The first thing to be noticed is the inconspicuousness of 
his style. The matter is of more importance to him 
than the manner ; and at the same time his ear for music, 
and familiar acquaintance with good models have en- 
abled him to go on without jarring the reader's ear with 
crude or false lines. Figures of speech are introduced 
in sufficient variety, but always from well-understood 
sources, and never expressed in such a way as to cause 
any effort in following them or their application.. We 



44 OLIVER GOLDSMITH. 

are not challenged to stop and admire new and glittering 
constructions, nor ingeniously improvised words. Com- 
mon speech affords the most of his material ; and thus 
his lines pass again into common speech, and enrich the 
thought of thousands who are unaffected by the more 
ambitious masters of verse. He is strikingly free from 
foreign airs, uses no metrical variations caught from the 
Continent, and yet, by skilfully varying his pauses, 
avoids monotony throughout. He has a poet's mastery 
of epithet. Without startling us by unusual coinage, 
he arouses pathos by " the rattling terrors of the venge- 
ful snake," the '-matted woods," and the "intolerable 
day." He understands contrasts, and, what is more, 
knows how to harmonize their effect. We are led from 
the '' ravaged landscape " to the " grassy-vested green," 
but never lose the continuity of thought. Goldsmith 
requires no elaborate course of learning to understand 
his allusions, nor trained perception to comprehend his 
thought. He charms all ages by his simple and tasteful 
use of nature ; and, as Dr. Aikin says, " if this be not 
the highest department of poetr}^ it has the advantage 
of being the most universally agreeable." 

'' The Deserted Village " deserves our careful attention 
from the deep feeling in its thought, the music in its 
lines, and its entire freedom from affectation. It stands 
for itself, a graceful example of true English literature. 



TO 

SIR JOSHUA REYNOLDS 



Dear Sir, — 

I can have no expectations, in an address of this -kind, 
either to add to your reputation or to establish my own. 
You can gain nothing from my admiration, as I am ig- 
norant of that art in which you are said to excel ; and I 
may lose much by the severity of your judgment, as few 
have a juster taste in poetry, than you. Setting interest 
therefore aside, to which I never paid much attention, I 
must be indulged at present in following my affections. 
The only dedication I ever made was to my brother, be- 
cause I loved him better than most other men. He is 
since dead. Permit me to inscribe this poem to you. 

How far you may be pleased with the versification 
and mere mechanical parts of this attempt, I do not pre- 
tend to inquire ; but I know you will object — and in- 
deed several of our best and wisest friends concur in the 
opinion — that the depopulation it deplores is nowhere 
to be seen, and the disorders it laments are only to be 
found in the poet's own imagination. To this I scarce 
make any other answer than that I sincerely believe 
what I have written ; that I have taken all possible 

45 



46 OLIVER GOLDSMITH. 

pains in my country excursions for tliese four or five 
years past to be certain of what I allege ; and that all 
my views and inquiries have led me to believe those 
miseries real which I here attempt to display. But this 
is not the place to enter into an inquiry whether the 
country be depopulating or not ; the discussion would 
take up much room, and I should prove myself, at best, 
an inditt'erent politician to tire the reader with a long 
preface, when I want his unfatigued attention to a long 
poem. 

In regretting the depopulation of the country, I in- 
veigh against the increase of our luxuries ; and here, also, 
I expect the shout of modern politicians against me. 
For twenty or thirty years past it has been the fashion 
to consider luxur}^ as one of the greatest national advan- 
tages ; and all the wisdom of antiquity, in that particu- 
lar, as erroneous. Still, however, I must remain a 
professed ancient on that head, and continue to think 
those luxuries prejudicial to states, by which so many 
vices are introduced, and so many kingdoms have been 
undone. Indeed, so much has been poured out of late 
on the other side of the question, that merely for the 
sake of novelty and variety one would sometimes wish 
to be in the right. 

I am, Dear Sir, 

Your sincere friend and ardent admirer, 

OLIVER GOLDSMITH. 



THE DESERTED VILLAGE. 



Sweet Auburn ! loveliest village of the plain, 
Where health and })lenty cheered the labouring swain, 
Where smiling sj^ring its earliest visit paid, 
And parting summer's lingering blooms delayed : 
Dear lovely bowers of innocence and ease, 5 

Seats of my youth, when every sport could please, 
How often have I loitered o'er thy green, 
AVhere bumble lia-j)})iness endeared each scene! 
How often have I ptiused on every charm. 
The sheltered cot, the cultivated farm, 10 

The never-failing brook, the busy mill, 
The decent church that topt the neighbouring hill. 
The hawthorn bush, with seats beneath the shade, 
For talking age and whispering lovers made ! 
How often have I blest the coming day, 15 

When toil remitting lent its turn to play, 
And all the village train, from labour free, 
Led up their sports beneath the spreading tree, 
While many a pastime circled in the shade. 
The young contending as the old surveyed ; -0 

And many a gambol frolicked o'er the ground. 
And sleights of art and feats of strength went round : 

47 



48 OLIVEli GOLDSMITH. 

And still, as each repeated pleasure tired, 

Succeeding sports the mirthful band inspired ; 

The dancing pair that simply sought renown 25 

By holding out to tire each other down ; 

The swain mistrustless of his smutted face, 

While secret laughter tittered round the place ; 

The bashful virgin's sidelong looks of love. 

The matron's glance that would those looks reprove. 30 

These were thy charms, sweet village ! sports like these, 

AVith sweet succession, taught even toil to please ; 

These round thy bowers their cheerful influence shed ; 

These were thy charms — but all these charms are fled. 

Sweet smiling village, loveliest of the lawn, 35 

Thy sports are fled, and all thy charms withdrawn ; 
Amidst thy bovN^ers the tyrant's hand is seen, 
And desolation saddens all thy green : 
One only master grasps the whole domain. 
And half a tillage stints thy smiling plain. '*0 

Xo more thy glassy brook reflects the day, 
But choked with sedges, works its weedy way ; 
Along thy glades, a solitary guest, 
The hollow-sounding bittern guards its nest ; 
Amidst thy desert walks the lapwing flies, ^^ 

And tires their echoes with unvaried cries. 
Sunk are thy bowers in shapeless ruin all. 
And the long grass o'ertops the mouldering wall ; 
And, trembling, shrinking from the spoiler's hand, 
Far, far away, thy children leave the land. ^0 

111 fares the land, to hastening ills a prey, 



THE DESERTED VILLAGE. 49^ 

Where wealth accumulates, and men decay : 

Princes and lords may flourish, or may fade — ■ 

A breath can make them, as a breath has made : 

But a bold peasantry, their country's pride, 55 

AVhen once destroyed, can never be supplied. 

A time there was, ere England's griefs began, 
When every rood of ground maintained its nuin ; 
For him light labour spread her wholesome store. 
Just gave what life required, but gave no more : 60 

His best companions, innocence and health. 
And his best riches ignorance of wealth. 

But times are altered ; trade's unfeeling train 
Usurp the land, and dispossess the swain : 
Along the lawn, where scattered hamlets rose, 65 

Unwieldy wealth and cumbrous pomp repose ; 
And every want to luxury allied. 
And every jjang that folly pays to pride. 
Those gentle hours that plenty bade to bloom, 
Those calm desires that asked but little room, 70 

Those healthful sports that graced the peaceful scene, 
Lived in each look, and brightened all the green 
These, far departing, seek a kinder shore, 
And rural mirth and manners are no more. 

Sweet Auburn ! parent of the blissful hour, 75 

Thy glades forlorn confess the tyrant's power. 
Here, as I take my solitary rounds. 
Amidst thy tangling walks and ruined grounds, 
And, many a year elapsed, return to view 
Where once the cottage stood, the hawthorn grew, 80 



50 OLIVER GOLDSMITH. 

i^emembrance Avakes with all her busy train, 
Swells at my breast, and turns the past to pain. 

In all my wand'rings round this world of care, 
In all my griefs — and God has given my share — 
I still had hopes, my latest hours to crown, 85 

Amidst these humble bowers to lay me down ; 
To husband out life's taper at the close. 
And keep the flame from wasting by repose. 
I still had hopes, for pride attends us still. 
Amidst the swains to show my book-learned skill, ^*o 

Around my Are an evening group to draw. 
And tell of all I felt, and all I saw ; 
And, as an hare, whom hounds and horns pursue, 
Pants to the place from whence at first he flew, 
I still had hopes, my long vexations past, 95 

Here to return — and die at home at last. 

blest retirement, friend to life's decline. 
Retreats from care, that never must be mine, 
How blest is he who crowns, in shades like these, 
A youth of labour Avith an age of ease ; lOO 

AYho quits a world where strong temptations try. 
And, since 'tis hard to combat, learns to fly ! 
For him no wretches, born to work and Aveep, 
Explore the mine, or tempt the dangerous deep; 
Nor surly porter stands, in guilty state, 105 

To turn imploring famine from the gate ; 
But on he moves to meet his latter end. 
Angels around befriending virtue's friend ; 
Sinks to the graA^e Avith unperceived decay, 



THE DESERTED VILLAGE. 51 

While resignation gently slopes the way ; 110 

And, all his prospects brightening to the last, 
His heaven commences, ere the world be past ! 

Sweet was the sound, when oft at evening's close 
Up yonder hill the village murmur rose ; 
There, as I passed with careless steps and slow, 115 

The mingling notes came softened from below ; 
The swain responsive as the milk-maid sung, 
The sober herd that lowed to meet their young ; 
The noisy geese that gabbled o'er the pool, 
The playful children just let loose from school ; 120 

The watch-dog's voice that bayed the whispering wind. 
And the loud laugh that spoke the vacant mind ; 
These all in sweet confusion sought the shade. 
And tilled each pause tlie nightingale had made ; 
But now the sounds of population fail, 125 

No cheerful murmurs fluctuate in the gale, 
No busy steps the grass-grown footway tread. 
For all the blooming flush of life is fled. 
All but yon widowed, solitary thing, 
That feebly bends beside the plashy spring ; 130 

She, wretched matron — forced in age, for bread. 
To strip the brook with mantling cresses spread, 
To pick her wintry faggot from the thorn, 
To seek her nightly shed, and weep till morn — 
She only left of all the harmless train, 135 

The sad historian of the pensive plain ! 
Near yonder copse, where once the garden smiled, 
And still where many a garden flower grows wild ; 



52 



OLIVER GOLDSMITn. 



There, where a few torn shrubs the phace disclose, 

The village preacher's modest mansion rose. 140 

A man he was to all the country dear, 

And passing rich with forty pounds a year ; 

Remote from towns he ran his godly race, 

Xor e'er had changed, nor wished to change his place ; 

Unpractised he to fawn, or seek for power, 145 

By doctrines fashioned to the varying hour ; 

Far other aims his heart had learned to prize, 

More skilled to raise the wretched than to rise. 

His house was known to all the vagrant train, 

He chid their wanderings, but relieved their pain ; iso 

The long-remembered beggar was his guest, 

AYhose beard descending swept his aged breast ; 

The ruined spendthrift, now no longer proud. 

Claimed kindred there, and had his claims allowed ; 

The broken soldier, kindly bade to stay, 155 

Sat by his fire, and talked the night away, 

Wept o'er his wounds, or, tales of sorrow done, 

Shouldered his crutch and showed how fields were won. 

Pleased with his guests, the good man learned to glow, 

And quite forgot their vices in their woe ; 16C 

Careless their merits or their faults to scan, 

His pity gave ere charity began. 

Til us to relieve the wretched was his pride, 
And e'en his failings leaned to virtue's side ; 
But in his duty, prompt at every call, 165 

He watched and wept, he prayed and felt for all ; 
And, as a bird each fond endearment tries 



THE DESERTED VILLAGE. 53 

To tempt its new-fledged offspring to the skies, 

He tried each art, reproved each dull delay, 

Allured to brighter worlds, and led the way. 170 

Beside the bed where parting life was laid. 
And sorrow, guilt, and pain, by turns dismayed, 
The reverend champion stood. At his control 
Despair and anguish fled the struggling soul ; 
Comfort came down the trembling wretch to raise, 175 
And his last faltering accents whispered praise. 

At church, with meek and unafl^ected grace. 
His looks adorned the venerable place ; 
Truth from his lips prevailed with double sway, 
And fools, who came to scoff, remained to pray. 180 

The service past, around the pious man. 
With ready zeal, each honest rustic ran ; 
E'en children followed, with endearing wile. 
And plucked his gown, to share the good man's smile : 
His ready smile a parent's warmth expressed, 185 

Their welfare pleased him, and their cares distressed ; 
To them his heart, his love, his griefs were given, 
But all his serious thoughts had rest in heaven. 
As some tall cliff that lifts its awful form, 
Swells from the vale, and midway leaves the storm, lOO 
Though round its breast the rolling clouds are spread. 
Eternal sunshine settles on its head. 

Beside yon straggling fence that skirts the way 
With blossomed furze unprofitably gay — 
There, in his noisy mansion, skilled to rule, 1^5 

The village master taught his little school ; 



54 OLIVER GOLDSMITH. 

A man severe he was, and stern to view, 

I knew him well, and every truant knew ; 

^Vell had the boding tremblers learned to trace 

The day's disasters in his morning face ; 200 

Full well they laughed with counterfeited glee 

At all his jokes, for many a joke had he ; 

Full well the busy whisper, circling round. 

Conveyed the dismal tidings when he frowned ; 

Yet he was kind, or if severe in aught, 205 

The love he bore to learning was in fault. 

The village all declared how much he knew ; 

'Twas certain he could write, and cipher too : 

Lands he could measure, terms and tides presage, 

And even the story ran that he could gauge. 210 

In arguing, too, the parson owned his skill. 

For e'en though vanquished, he could argue still ; 

While words of learned length and thund'ring sound 

Amazed the gazing rustics ranged around, 

And still they gazed, and still the wonder grew 215 

That one small head should carry all he knew. 

But past is all his fame. The very sjjot. 

Where many a time he triumphed, is forgot. 

Near yonder thorn that lifts its head on high. 
Where once the sign-post caught the passing eye, 220 
Low lies that house where nut-brown draughts inspired. 
Where gray-beard mirth and sniiling toil retired. 
Where village statesmen talked with looks profound, 
And news much older than their ale went round. 
Imagination fondly sloops to trace 225 



THE DESERTED VILLAGE. . 55 

The parlour splendours of that festive place ; 

The white-washed wall, the nicely sanded floor, 

The varnished clock that clicked behind the door ; 

The chest contrived a double debt to pay, 

A bed by night, a chest of drawers by day ; 230 

The pictures placed for ornament and use. 

The twelve good rules, the royal game of goose ; 

The hearth, except when winter chilled the day. 

With aspen boughs, and flowers and fennel gay ; 

While broken tea-cups, wisely kept for show, 235 

Ranged o'er the chimney, glistened in a row. 

Vain transitory splendours ! could not all 
Reprieve the tottering mansion from its fall ? 
Obscure it sinks, nor shall it more impart 
An hour's importance to the poor man's heart ; 240 

Thither no more the peasant shall repair 
To sweet oblivion of his daily care ; 
No more the farmer's news, the barber's tale, 
No more the woodman's ballad shall prevail ; 
No more the smith his dusky brow shall clear, 245 

Relax his ponderous strength and lean to hear ; 
The host himself no longer shall be found 
Careful to see the mantling bliss go round ; 
Nor the coy maid, half-willing to be pressed, 
Shall kiss the cup to pass it to the rest. 250 

Yes ! let the rich deride, the proud disdain, 
These simple blessings of the lowly train. 
To me more dear, congenial to my heart. 
One na,tive charm, than all the gloss of art ; 



56 OLIVER GOLDSMITH. 

* 

Spontaneous joys, where nature has its play, 255 

The soul adopts, and owns their first-born sway : 

Lightly they frolic o'er the vacant mind, 

Unenvied, unmolested, unconfined. 

But the long pomp, the midnight masquerade, 

With all the freaks of wanton wealth arrayed, 260 

In these, ere triflers half their wish obtain. 

The toiling pleasure sickens into pain ; 

And, even while fashion's brightest arts decoy, 

The heart distrusting asks, if this be joy ? 

Ye friends to truth, ye statesmen who survey 265 

The rich man's power increase, the poor's decay, 
'Tis yours to judge how wide the limits stand 
Between a splendid and a happy land. 
Proud swells the tide with loads of freighted ore, 
And shouting Folly hails them from her shore ; 270 

Hoards even beyond the miser's wish abound, 
And rich men flock from all the world around. 
Yet count our gains. This wealth is but a name 
That leaves our useful products still the same. 
Not so the loss. The man of wealth and pride 275 

Takes up a place that many poor supplied ; 
Space for his lake, his park's extended bounds. 
Space for his horses, equipage, and hounds ; 
The robe that wraps his limbs in silken sloth 
Has robbed the neighbouring fields of half their growth ; 
HiS seat where solitary spots are seen, 281 

Indignant spurns the cottage from the green ; 
Around the Avorld each needful product flies, 



THE DESERTED VILLAGE. Oi 

« 
For all the luxuries the world supplies : 
AVhile thus the land, adorned for pleasure, all 285 

In barren splendour feebly waits the fall. 

As some fair female, unadorned and plain, 
Secure to please while youth confirms her reign, 
Slights every borrowed charm that, dress supplies, 
Nor shares with art the triumph of her eyes ; 290 

But when those charms are past, for charms are frail, 
AVhen time advances, and when lovers fail, 
She then shines forth, solicitous to bless. 
In all the glaring impotence of dress ; 
Thus fares the land, by luxury betrayed : 295 

In nature's simplest charms at hrst arrayed, 
I)ut verging to decline, its splendours rise. 
Its vistas strike, its palaces surprise ; 
While, scourged by famine, from the smiling land 
The mournful peasant leads his liunil)le band ; 300 

And while he sinks, without one arm to save. 
The country blooms — a garden and a grave. 

Where then, ah ! where shall poverty reside. 
To 'scape the pressure of contiguous pride ? 
If to some common's fenceless limits strayed 305 

He drives his flocks to pick the scanty blade, 
Those fenceless helds the sons of wealth divide, 
And e'en the bare-worn common is denied. 

If to the city sped — what waits him there ? 
To see profusion that he must not share ; 310 

To see ten thousand baneful arts combined 
To pamper luxury and thin mankind ; 



58 OLIVER GOLDSMITH. 

To see each joy the sons of pleasure know, 
Extorted from his fellow-creature's woe ; 
Here, while the courtier glitters in brocade, 315 

There, the pale artist plies the sickly trade ; 
Here, while the proud their long-drawn pomps display. 
There, the black gibbet glooms beside the way. 
The dome where pleasure holds her midnight reign. 
Here, richly decked, admits the gorgeous train ; 320 

Tumultuous grandeur crowds the blazing square. 
The rattling chariots clash, the torches glare. 
Sure scenes like these no troubles e'er annoy ; 
Sure these denote one universal joy ! 
Are these thy serious thoughts ? — Ah ! turn thine 
eyes 325 

Where the poor houseless shivering female lies. 
She once, perhaps, in village plenty blessed. 
Has wept at tales of innocence distressed ; 
Her modest looks the cottage might adorn. 
Sweet as the primrose peeps beneath the thorn ; 330 

Now lost to all ; her friends, her virtue fled. 
Near her betrayer's door she lays her head — 
And, pinched with cold, and shrinking from the shower. 
With heavy heart deplores that luckless hour. 
When idly first, ambitious of the town, 335 

She left her wheel and robes of country brown. 

Do thine, sweet Auburn ! thine the loveliest train. 
Do thy fair tribes participate her pain ? 
E'en now, perhaps, by cold and hunger led, 
At proud men's doors they ask a little bread. 340 



THE DESERTED VILLAGE. 59 

Ah, no ! To distant climes, a dreary scene, 
Where half the convex world intrudes between, 
Through torrid tracts with fainting steps they go, 
Where wild Altama murmurs to their woe. 
Far different there from all that charmed before, 345 

The various terrors of that horrid shore ; 
Those blazing suns that dart a downward ray, 
And fiercely shed intolerable day ; 
Those matted woods where birds forget to sing ; 
I)Ut silent bats in drowsy clusters cling ; 350 

Those poisonous tields with rank luxuriance crowned, 
Where the dark scorpion gathers death around ; 
AVhere at each step the stranger fears to wake 
The rattling terrors of the vengeful snake ; 
Where crouching tigers wait their hapless pre}^, 355 

And savage men more murderous still than they ; 
While oft in whirls the mad tornado flies. 
Mingling the ravaged landscape with the skies. 
Far different these from every former scene. 
The cooling brook, the grassy-vested green, 360 

The breezy covert of the warbling grove. 
That only sheltered thefts of harmless love. 

Good Heaven! Avhat sorrows gloomed that parting 
day. 
That called them from their native walks away ; 
AVhen the poor exiles, every pleasure past, 305 

Hung round the bowers, and fondly looked tlieir 

last — 
And took a long farewell, and wished in vain 



60 OLIVER GOLDSMITH. 

For seats like these beyond the western main — 

And, shuddering still to face the distant deep, 

Returnee! and wept, and still returned to weep. •i'S'O 

The good old sire the first prepared to go 

To new-found worlds, and wept for others' woe ; 

l)ut for himself, in conscious virtue brave. 

He only wished for worlds beyond the grave. 

His lovely daughter, lovelier in her tears, 375 

The fond companion of his helpless years. 

Silent went next, neglectful of her charms, 

And left a lover's for a father's arms. 

AVith louder plaints the mother spoke her woes. 

And blessed the cot where every pleasure rose, «'^S0 

And kissed her thoughtless babes with many a tear, 

And clasped them close, in sorrow doubly dear ; 

Whilst her fond husband strove to lend relief 

In all the silent manliness of grief. 

luxur}^ ! thou curst by Heaven's decree, 385 

How ill exchanged are things like these for thee ! 
How do thy potions, with insidious joy, 
Diffuse their pleasures only to destroy ! 
Kingdoms, b}^ thee to sickly greatness grown. 
Boast of a florid vigour not their own : 390 

At every draught more large and large they grow, 
A bloated mass of rank unwieldy woe ; 
Till, sapped their strength, and every part unsound, 
Down, down they sink, and spread a ruin round. 

Even now the devastation is begun, 395 

And half the business of destruction done ; 



TEE DESERTED VILLAGE. 61 

Even now, methinks, as jjondering here I stand, 

I see the rural virtues leave the land. 

Down where yon anchoring vessel spreads the sail 

That idly waiting flaps with every gale, 400 

Downward they move, a melancholy band, 

Pass from the shore, and darken all the strand. 

Contented toil, and hospitable care. 

And kind connubial tenderness are there, 

And piety with wishes placed above, 405 

And steady loyalty, and faithful love. 

And thou, sweet Poetry, thou loveliest maid, 

Still first to fly where sensual joys invade ; 

Unfit, in these degenerate times of shame, 

To catch the heart, or strike for honest fame : 410 

Dear charming nymph, neglected and decried, 

My shame in crowds, my solitary pride ; 

Thou source of all my bliss, and all my woe, 

Thou found'st me poor at first, and keep'st me so ; 

Thou guide, by which the noble arts excel, 415 

Thou nurse of every virtue, fare thee Avell ! 

Farewell ; and oh ! where'er thy voice be tried. 

On Torno's cliffs, or Pambamarca's side. 

Whether where equinoctial fervours glow, 

Or winter wraps the polar world in snow, 420 

Still let thy voice, prevailing over time, 

Redress the rigours of the inclement clime ; 

Aid slighted truth with thy persuasive strain ; 

Teach erring man to spurn the rage of gain ; 

Teach him, that states of native strength possessed, 425 



62 OLIVER GOLDSMITH. 

Though very poor, may still be very blest ; 

That trade's proud empire hastes to swift decay, 

As ocean sweeps the laboured mole away ; 

While self-dependent power can time defy, 

As rocks resist the billows and the sky. 430 



INTRODUCTION TO NOTES. 



The thought in the Spanish proverb, that the view 
of a forest may be obscured by calling attention to the 
trees, has been borne in mind in preparing these notes. 
They are arranged with the design of securing an appre- 
ciation of these poems, rather than making an exhaus- 
tive study of word-derivation and grammatical points, 
though such matters are not neglected when deemed ne- 
cessary to bring out the meaning. It is not considered 
advisable to enable the student to dispense with his 
dictionary, nor to dwell upon points that should have 
been instilled at an earlier period. AVhen the time is 
reached at which this book is expected to be used in 
schools, the literary spirit should not be surrendered too 
much to the pedagogic. 

In class-work, it is suggested that the accompanying 
outlines be followed. They can be elaborated with 
minor points according to the amount of time to be 
given to each poem. Then if each student takes a por- 
tion of the syllabus to speak upon, the result will be 
a satisfaction to all, as the writer can testify from his 
own work. The memorizing of choice portions is of 
the greatest value, and should be much employed here, 



64 OLIVER GOLDSMITH. 

as these poems are so well fitted for it. Finally, each 
one should read them carefully, with no other thought 
than that of enjoyment; and if this be not fully se- 
cured, there is something wrong. The essence of litera- 
ture is that it must entertain ; poetry is its highest 
form, and these are among the best specimens of poetry. 
If these poems are read with the author's own feeling 
in mind, that " innocently to amuse the imagination in 
this dream of life is wisdom," they will achieve their 
true and kindly purpose, and linger delightfully ip the 
memory. 



NOTES ON THE TRAVELLER. 



Structure of the Poem. — Both these poems are written in 
iambic pentameter, often called heroic verse; a metrical form wliicli 
Is to the English, German, and Italian Languages what the hex- 
ameter is to Greek and Latin. Ruskin says: " The tetrameter and 
pentameter, which require the full breath, but do not exhaust it, con- 
stitute the entire body of the chief poetry of energetic nations; the 
hexameter, which fully exhausts the breath, is only used by nations 
whose pleasure was in repose." Iambic pentameter is scanned 
thus: — 



% 



P^ 



" Where'er | I roam, || whatev- | er lands | to see. 
My heart || uutrav- | elled foiid- | ly turns | to thee." 

The Traveller. 
«' The haw- | thorn biish, || with seats | beneath | the shade. 
For talk- | ing jige |i and whis- | pering lov- | ers made." 

The Deserted Milage. 

The caesura, or natural pause, indicated thus ||, which is needed 
in most lines longer than the tetrameter verse, may in this form come 
anywhere in the line, but is found most frequently after the fourth 
or sixth syllable. 

The lines are arranged in rhymed coitplets, a system fully de- 
veloped in the polished verse of Pope. The rules governing this 
were that there should be a pause, a comma at least, at the end of 
every couplet, and no sentence should close except with the end of a 
line. An extra syllable was guarded against. Such couplets lend 
themselves readily to quotation, and hence live in our language; but 
the artificial nature of the whole arrangement caused poets, later on, 
to turn to more varying and less mechanical forms. 

65 



66 OLIVER GOLDSMITH. 

Outline of the Poem. 

Lines 1-22. A tender address to the poet's brother Henry, in 

his quiet and useful life. 

23-30. The Poet's own restless and wandering condition is placed 
in contrast. 

31-50. The panorama of a "hundred realms," seen from the 
Aljiine summits, invites consideration. 

51-62. A Avish for a spot of real liappiness. 

63-72. The chiim bj- the dweller in each region that his ov/n 
home is best. 

73-98. The patriot's boast is called in question. 

99-104. A proposition is made to trj' the truth by observation of 
dilTerent countries. 

10o-164. Italy is surveyed and discussed. 

165-238. S\vitzerland and her people receive attention. 

239-280. France, with her people, passes in review. 

281-316. Holland is examined in the same manner, and also 
fails to satisfy. 

317-3134. Britain is taken under consideration. 

335-422. A discussion of freedom, suggested by the proud inde- 
pendence of the British character, and the abuses that arise even 
from this. 

423-438. The conclusion is reached that happiness centres in 
the mind, independent of location or government, and is not to be 
gained by travelling in search of it. 



Page 2.5, Line 1. Remote, etc. Cf. Ovid's " Metam.,"xiv. 217: — 
" Solus, inops, exspes : leto poenisque relictis." 
Hopeless, unaided, alone; the pains of death now await liini. 

P. 25, 1. 1. SloAV. It is said that a fellow-member of the Club 
asked: " Mr. Goldsmith, what do you mean by the last word in the 
first line of your 'Traveller"? Do you mean tardiness of locomo- 
tion ?" Goldsmith, who habitually spoke unthinkingly, answered, 
" Yes." Dr. Johnson, the autocrat of the company, who was sitting 
near, at once broke out wit4i, " No, sir; you did not mean tardiness of 
locomotion; you mean that sluggishness of mind that comes upon a 
man in solitude." — " Ah ! " said Goldsmith, abashed, " that was what 



NOTES ON THE TRAVELLER. 67 

I meant." Instances like tliis gave rise to the charge that Johnson 
hirgely aided in the preparation of the jjoein, wlieii, in fact, he con- 
trihuted but nine lines, of inferior quality compared with Goldsmith's 
own. 

P. 25, 1. 2. Scheldt, Po. The Scheldt flows from France through 
Belgium and Holland to the North Sea. The Po is the largest river 
of Italy, flowii]g from west to east across the upper part to the Adri- 
atic Sea. Thus these two rivers represent the extreme points of the 
travels described. 

P. 25, 1. 3. Cariiithian. The inhabitants of Carinthia, a moun- 
tainous province of south-western Austria, were called rough and 
inhospitable. 

P. 25, 1. 5. Campania. The Campagna di Roma, a low plain 
surrounding the city of Rome. 

P. 25, 1. y. My brother. Henry Goldsmith, to whom the poem 
was dedicated. 

P. 25, 1. 10. A lengthening chain. Cf. Gibber's " Com. Lover," 
p. 240 : — 

" 'When I am with Floriniel, it [my heart] is still your prisoner, it only 
draws a longer chain after it.' " 

P. 26, 1. 23. Me. The object of the transitive verb leads in line 29. 

P. 20, 1. 32. I sit me do\vn. This reflexive use of the personal 
pronoun is common in earlier English. 

P. 2G, 1. 33. Above the storm's career. The poet is repre- 
sented as sitting on a crag of the Alps, at an elevation above that of 
ordinary rain-clouds. 

P. 26, 1. 34. An hundred realms. Poetical use of the numeral. 
Notice, also, the use of " an " before the sounded h. This was 
always done by Goldsmith. 

P. 28, 1. 84. Idra's cliff. Probably Idria, a mining-town of Aus- 
tro-Hungary. 

P. 28, 1. 84. Arno's shelvy side. The Arno, a river of Tuscany, 
flows through the most fertile land in Italy. Hence the thought is 
that there are means of livelihood for those living in the most sterile 
places, as well as for those in the most productive. " Shelvy " is 
shelving or sloping. 

P. 28, 1. 101. Proper cares. Those strictly belonging to himself 
Latin Proprius, -a, -um, one's own. 



68 OLIVER GOLDSMITH. 

P. 28, 1. 105. Apeiinine. The Apennines; mountains running 
from the Alps through the Italian peninsula. 

P. 29, 1. 111. Could. Verb with if understood. The conclusioi! 
of the condition is the subjunctive irere, line 112. The form is that 
of a Latin condition contrary 1o fact in present time. 

P. 29, 1. 123. Small the bliss, etc. Pleasure given by the ani- 
mal senses is by the poet viewed as far below the enjoyment obtained 
by the intellect. 

P. 29, 1. 134. When Commerce flourished. Venice and Genoa 
controlled a large part of European commerce during the Middle 
Ages. As Italy weakened, other nations secured this. 

P. 29, 1. 135. At her command, etc. Referiing to the Italian 
renaissance, or revival of art in the fifteenth century. 

P. 30, 1. 141. Plethoric ill. "In short, the state resembles one 
of those bodies bloated with disease, whose bulk is only a symptom of 
its wretchedness: their former opulence only rendered them more 
impotent." — Citizen of the World, i. 98. 

P. 30, 1. 150. The pasteboard triumph. Instead of the " tri- 
umph " of Roman times, when a commander entered the city in state, 
after a decisive victory, the mummery of the Carnival is seen. 

P. 31. 1. 170. Man and steel. In earlier times the Swiss were 
in great demand as hired soldiers, and often secured money for their 
families in this way. 

P. 31, 1. 186. Breasts. Often incorrectly given as "breathes," 
with a sad loss of poetic vigor. 

P. 31, 1. 190. Savage. A savage beast. 
"Drive the reluctant savage into tlie toils."— Citizen of the World, i. 112. 

P. 32, 1. 205. As a child, etc. No feature of Goldsmith's poems 
impresses the mind more than his fine similes, of which this is a 
beautiful example. 

P. 32, 1. 213. For every ^vant, etc. In a pessimistic way we 

may say that civilization is but an increase of wants. Tlie brighter 

side of this view is here brought out. Cf. ** Animated Nature," ii. 

123. 

" Every want becomes a means of pleasure in the redressing." 

P. 32, 1. 217. UnknoAvn to them, etc. Poetical contraction of 
statement. In prose: " When sensual pleasures cloy, how to fill the 
languid pause with finer joy is unknown to them." 

P. 33, 1. 243. Choir. The choral dance. 



NOTES OJSr THE TRAVELLER. 69 

P. 33, 1. 249. Yet vvoiilcl the village praise, etc. The adven- 
tures of George Primrose in " Tlie Vicar of AVakelield " are regarded 
as being those of Goldsinitli himself, allowing for the flourishes inci- 
dent to story-telling. He says: " I passed among the harmless peas- 
ants of Flanders, and among such of the French as were poor enough 
to be very merry; for I ever found them sprightly in proportion to 
their wants. Whenever I ai)proached a peasant's house towards 
niglitfall, I played one of my most merry tunes, and that procured 
me not only lodging but subsistence for the next day." 

P. 34, 1. 2G2. From courts to camps, to cottages. Instances 
of " apt alliteration's artful aid " are frequent in these poems. 

P. 34, 1. 280. Self-applause. Legitimate self-satisfaction, and 
not vanity or conceit. 

P. 35, 1. 284. The broad ocean, etc. Cf. : 

" And view the ocean leaning on the sky." — Dryden. 

P. 35, 1. 290. Scoops out. A striking instance of the power of 
a fitly-chosen simple word to call up an entire image. 
P. 35, 1. 296. A iiCAV creation, etc. 

" Holland seems to be a conquest upon the sea, and in a manner rescued 
from its bosom." — Goldsmith. 

P. 35, 1. 306. Ev^en liberty, etc. Slavery was permitted in Hol- 
land, and children could be sold by their parents for a certain number 
of years. 

P. 36, 1. 313. Their Belgic sires. The time-honored expression 
of CfBsar's " Commentaries," " The bravest of all these are the Bel- 
gians,'' must have been in Goldsmith's mind. 

P. 36, 1. 319. Where la\vns, etc. Goldsmith's residence in Eng- 
land had so far be^n one of squalor and wretchedness, but it is 
the England of beauty of which he writes. Cf. his " Citizen of the 
World," ii. 196: — 

" Yet from the vernal softness of the air, the verdure of tlie fields, the 
transparency of the streams, and the beauty of the women; liere love niig!it 
sport among the painted lawns and warbling groves, and carol upon gules 
wafting at once both fragrance and harmony." 

P. 36, 1. 319. Arcadian. Arcadia, an exceedingly fertile state in 
the south of ancient Greece, is the traditional type of rural simplicity 
and happiness. 



OLIVER GOLDSMITH. 



P. 36, 1. 320. Hydaspes. A river of India, now called Jliylom or 
Jelum. On its banks Alexander the Great defeated Porus. It is 
celebrated by Lucan, the elder Pliny, Arrian, and other Latin wri- 
ters of whose works Goldsmith was fund. 
P. 37, 1. 345. Feriiieuts arise, etc. 

" It is extremely difficult to induce a number of free beings to co-operate 
for their mutual benefit : every possible advantage will necessarily be sought, 
and every attempt to procure it must be attended with a new fermentation." 

Citizen of the World, ii. 228. 

Onr own country is well illustrating in its social and political life 
the sageness of Goldsmith's views on this point. 

P. 37, 1. 348. Frenzy fire the -wheels. An infinitive phrase, 
the object of the verb " feels,'' line 347. 

P. 37, 1. 357. Stems. Offspring. 

" A rod out of the stem of Jesse." — Isa. xi. 1. 

P. 37, 1. 361. Yet think not, etc. 

" In the things I have hitherto written, I have neither allured the vanity 
of the great by flattery, nor satisfied the malignity of the vulgar by scandal : 
but have endeavored to get an honest reputation by liberal pursuits." 

Preface to History of England. 

P. 38, 1. 382. Contracting regal power, etc. 

"It is in the interest of tlie great to diminish kingly power as much as 
possible." — Vicar of Wakefield, p. 101. 

P. .38, 1. 392. Petty tyrants. Cf. Pope's " Epistle to Mrs. 
Blount : " — 

" Marriage may all these petty tyrants chase." 

P. 39, 1. 405. Have \ve not seen, etc. These lines are evidently 
the starting-point of " The Deserted Village." 

P. 39, 11. 411, 412. Os^vego . . . Niagara. Goldsmith was the 
first to introduce sonorous Indian names into English poetry. It is 
true that the metrical accent here calls for Niagara, but other good 
poets have made worse slips on names belonging even to tlieir own 
land. 

P. 39, 1. 412. With thundering sound. Burke had applied this 
epithet to the falls. 

P. 39, 1. 420. This philosophical line was contributed by Dr. 
Johnson. 



NOTES ON THE TRAVELLER. 71 

/ 

P. 40, 11. 429-438. These lines are also Dr. Johnson's, with the\ 

exception of lines 435, 430. Their weighty nature shows a marked 
contrast to the easy flow of the rest of the poem, and the two simple 
lines of Goldsmith's own are worth more than all his friend's well- 
meant contribution. 

P. 40, 1. 435. The agonizing -wheel. In France and Germany, 
those deemed worthy of especial punishment were sometimes bound 
upon wheels, which were made to revolve while the executioner broke 
each limb with a bar of iron as it came up. 

P. 40, 1. 436. Luke's iron crown. George and Luke Zeck, 
brothers, headed an insurrection in Hungary in 1514. George, who 
attempted to seize the sovereignty, was punished by having a red-hot 
iron crown placed upon his head. The name of his brother Luke is 
taken here, evidently for metrical reasons. 

P. 40, 1. 430. Daniien's bed of steel. Robert Francois Damiens. 
for attempting to assassinate Louis XV. of France, in 1757, was kept 
for two months ui)on a heated bed of steel, in order to wring from him 
the names of supposed confederates. As there appeared to be none, 
he was finally torn limb from limb by horses. Goldsmith had, when 
abroad, been much moved by the tyrannical and luxurious lives of the 
French kings, and had shrewdly predicted : " If they have but three 
weak monarchs more successively on the throne, the mask will be 
laid aside, and the country will certainly once more be free." 



NOTES ON THE DESERTED VILLAGE. 



N. B. — Read the "Introduction to Notes," p. 63, and the note 
on poetical structure, p. 65, as these apply equally to both poems. 

OUTLINE OF THE POEM. 

Lines 1-34. Sketch of Auburn, a happy country village. 

35-50. Contrasting- sketch of the same reduced to desolation by 
the usurpation of a rich landlord. 

51-56. The moral of the change. 

57-62. England in simpler, liappier times. 

6.3-74. The contrast shown by England's existing condition, 
being an extended application of the comparison drawn from the two 
pictures of the village. 

75-82. Auburn as the parent of memories, 

8.3-Ih;. The expression of a cherished wish on the part of the 
poet to return home for his declining years. 

97-113. Tribute to the privilege of closing one's life in peace and 
retirement. 

11.3-1.36. The bright memories of the past, with their contrast 
again in the disappointing desolation of the present. 

1.37 192. Passing to tlie " interior life of the village," the first of 
a series of local word-pictures is given in that of the village preacher. 

19'>-218. The village master. 

21f»-236. The village inn. 

237-250. Regret for the village life that is gone. 

251-264. A preference expressed for rural pleasures over those of 
fashionable society. 

26.'')-286. An appeal to statesmen against the appropriation of 
homes to make pleasure-grounds for the wealthy. 

72 



NOTES ON THE. DESERTED VILLAGE. 73 

303-336. The hopeless efforts of outcast poverty to find a i)lace 
for itself. 

337-3()2, The fortunes of Auburn's exiled inhabitants. 

363-384. The sadness of expulsion from home. 

385-39-1. A reproach against luxury, 

395-430. The displacement by luxury of the rural virtues, and 
with theni the Genius of Poetry. To her the poet appeals that she 
teach erring men the truth through all time. 



Page 47, Line 2. S^vain. A favorite word among eighteenth- 
century poets. Originally meaning a servant, it came to be used for 
a young man in the country, — a husbandman, as here, — a shex)herd ; 
9,ud, from the pastoral sentiment of the times, a lover. 

P. 47, 1.4. Parting. Departing. Cf. line 1 of Gray's "Elegy : "— 

" The curfew tolls the knell of parting day." 
P. 47, 1. 5. Bowers. Poetically used for dwellings. 
P. 47, 1. 13. The hawthorn bush. A large hawthorn (hedge- 
thorn) bush in Lissoy was carried away piecemeal by relic-hunters. 
P. 47, 1. 14. Talking age. 

" And narrative old age." — Pope. 
P. 47, 1. 15. The coming day. Some saint's day, which would 
be a festal occasion, celebrated on the village green. 

P. 47, 1. 17. Train. Often used by Goldsmith, and occurring 
some ten times in this poem ; coming from the Latin traho, to draw, 
it means here a long-drawn line. 

P. 47, 1. 21. Gambol. A general joining in play. 
P. 48, 1. 35. Lawn. Equivalent to '• plain " in line 1. 
P. 48, 1. 39. Only. Perhaps the hardest word in our language to 
use properly. Here, as an adjective, it is given an especial force by 
its jiosition. Cf. : — 

" Now is it Rome indeed, and room enongh. 
When there is in it but one only man." 

Julius Ccesar, Act I. Scene ii. 

P. 48, 1. 42. Works its weedy \^^ay. A noticeable instance of 
the alliteration often used by Goldsmith and other poets of his time. 
Cf. lines 53, 74, 82, 93, 102, 123, 214, and 281 as examples. As a strik- 
ing illustration which this line suggests, notice the following from 
Boker's " Ivory Carver ; " — 



74 OLIVER GOLDSMITH. 

" Silently sat the artist alone, 
Carving a Christ from the ivory bone. 
Little by little, with toil and pain, 
He won his way through the sightless grain, 
That held and yet hid the tiling he sought, 
Till the work stood up, a growing thought." 

P. 48, 1. 44. The holloAV-soiinding bittern, etc. A species ot 
heron, locally known in this country as "stake-driver," from ilie 
sound of its cry. Goldsmith, in his "Animated Nature," observes 
that there is "no note so dismally hollow as the booming of the 
bittern." The name is used in the Scriptures with melancholy sug- 
gest! ven ess: — 

" I will also make it a possessioa for the bittern, and pools of water." 

Isa. xiv. 23. 

" But the cormorant and the bittern shall possess it ; the owl also and the 
raven shall dwell in it." — Ibid, xxxiv. 11. 

P. 48, 1. 51. Ill fares the land, etc. Almost the only line of 
Goldsmith's that has been criticised as inartistic ; exception being 
taken to the repetition of sound in " ill " and " ills." 

P. 48, 1. 52. Decay. Lessen in number. 

P. 49, 1.55. A breath, etc. Cf . : — 

" Princes and lords are but the breath ofkings." — Burns. 

P. 49, 1. Gf). AVealth . . . pomp. Goldsmith is much addicted 
to this form of personification, often using a quality, condition, or 
occupation for tliose whom it represents. 

P. 49, 1. 70. Manners. Customs. An evident choice of words 
for the sake of alliteration. 

P. 49, 1. 75. Su'eet Auburn, etc. An example of apostrophe. 

P. 50, 11. 87, 88. These lines form an excellent metaphor. 

P. 50, 1. 93. As an hare, etc. Goldsmith, with good taste, re- 
frains from overloading his lines with figures of speech, and when 
introduced they are exceedingly effective, like the simile h.ere. For 
the use of " an " before the aspirated h, Cf. " The Traveller," line 34. 

P. 50, 1. 107. His latter end. Extreme old age. Cf. the biblical 
use : — 

"Hear counsel, and receive instruction, that thou mayest be wise in thy 
latter end." — Prov. xix. 20. 



NOTES ON THE DESERTED VILLAGE. 75 

P. 51, 1. 110. While resignation, etc. Sir Joshua Reynolds, to 
whom this poem was dedicated, appreciated the fine tribute, and soon 
painted his picture of " Resignation," inscribed, " This attempt to ex- 
press a character in ' The Deserted Village ' (lines 109-112) is dedicated 
to Dr. Goldsmith by his sincere friend and admirer, Joshua Rey- 
nolds." 

P. 51, 1. 121. Bayed. Barked at. 

" I had ratlier be a dog, and bay the moon, 
Than sucli a Roman." — JaUus C'cesar, Act IV., Scene iii. 

P. 51, 1. 121. The ^vhispe^ing ^viud. Wind is regularly to be 
pronounced wind in poetry. 

P. 51, 1. 122. The loud laugh, etc. Mr. Swinton makes a good 
point here by observing that this does not mean that every loud laugh 
betokens an empty mind. 

P. 51, 1. 124. The nightingale. Those whose delight it is to pick 
flaws in greatness say here that the nightingale is not found in Ire- 
land. This is true ; but, as said before, it was perfectly natural for 
the poet to mingle his surroundings, while writing the j)oem, with his 
recollections of childhood. 

P. 51, 1. 129. Yon widowed, solitary thing. The general ab- 
sence of life in the village is made far more impressive by a special 
instance of its presence in a forlorn condition, as a feeble sound 
emphasizes a profound silence. 

Pp. 51-53, 11. 137-192. The sketch of the village preacher seems 
to be drawn from the poet's father, and his brother, Henry Goldsmith, 
combined. The literary idea may come from the parish j)riest of 
Dryden, who, in turn, improved the character from Chaucer. 

P. 51, 1. 137. Copse, A field of brushwood which is cut for fuel. 
French couper, to cut. 

P. 51, 1. 138. Still. Adverbial modifier of " grows." Placed 
where it is on account of the metre. 

P. 52, 1. 142. Passing. Surpassingly. Exceedingly. 

P. 52, 1. 155. Broken. Broken down. 

P. 52, 1. 159. Glow. Become animated, with face flushed with 
interest. 

P. 52, 1. 1(37. And as a bird, etc. This beautiful simile is be- 
lieved to be strictly original, having thus an advantage over the 
loftier one in lines 189-192. Tlie thought may come from Deut. xxxii. 
11, 12 ; but there is no parallel to it in poetic literature. 



76 OLIVER GOLDSMITH. 

P. 53, 1. 173. Champion. One wlio combats singly for himself or 
another. Here, the defender of the departing soul against the powers 
of evil. From the Latin campus, a field, hence a place for contests. 

P. 53, 1. 181. The service past = When the service was finished. 
Xominative absolute. 

P. 53, 1. 189. As some tall clifF, etc. Xo sublimer simile is to be 
found, and this should never leave the mind of the reader. It is 
probably adapted from the following passage from Young's " Night 
Thoughts," but gains greatly upon it: — 

" As some tall tower, or lofty mountain's brow, 
Detains the sun, illustrious from its heiglit, 
"White rising vapors and descending shades, 
With damps and darkness drown the spacious val«. 
Philander thus augustly rears his liead." 

Pp. 53, 54, 11. 193-216. The character of the village school- 
master recalls Goldsmith's old teacher, Tliomas, commonly called 
" Paddy " Byrne, a veteran whose tales seem to have suggested the 
" broken soldier " of the previous description. 

P. 53, 1. 194. Furze. An evergreen shrub, often called gorse. 

P. 53, 1. 195. Skilled to rule. A trace of Latin infinitive con- 
struction. Cf. line 145. 

P. 54, 1. 209. Terms and tides presage. Foretell seasons, and 
times of high and low water. 

P. 54, 1. 210. Gauge. Estimate the capacity of casks from their 
dimensions. 

P. 54, 1. 219. Thorn. Thorn-tree. 

P. 54, 1. 221. That house. The village inn. 

P. 55, 1. 232. Tlie t^velve good rules. These were attributed to 
Charles I., and were commonly hung in public-houses. They were: 

1. Urge no liealths [the drinking of "healths" to each other]. 

2. Profane no divine ordinances. 3. Touch no state matters. 4. Reveal 
no secrets. 5. Pick no quarrels. 0. INIake no comparisons. 7. Main- 
tain no ill opinions. 8. Keep no bad company. 9. Encourage no vice. 
10. Make no long meals. 11. Repeat no grievances. 12. Lay no 
wagers. 

P. 55, 1. 232. The royal game of goose. A fox-and-geese board. 
P. 55, 1. 2.'U. Fennel. An aromatic garden plant. 
P. 55, 1. 244. The Woodman's ballad. Some song of Robin 
Hood, the hero of forestry. 



NOTES ON THE UESEETEl) VILLAGE. 77 

P. 55, 1. 248. The mantling bliss. Hajipiness that included or 
infolded all. Used by metonymy for the ale wliicli was the cause. 
P. 55, 1. 250. Shall kiss the cup, etc. Cf. the song: — 

*' Drink to me only with thine eyes, 
And I will jiledge with mine ; 
Or leave a kiss but in the cup, 
And I'll not look for wine." 

To Celia. — Ben Joxson. 

P. 56, 1. 258. Unenvied, unmolested, unconfined. The prefix 
uii- has elsewhere been effectively used in poetry. Cf. : — 

"Unwept, unhonored, and unsung." — SooTT. 

" Unknelled, uncoffined, and unknown." — Byron. 

P. 56, 1. 264. The heart distrusting asks if this be joy. One 

of the most powerful lines in the poem, or in our language. 

P. 56, 1. 278. Equipage. Carriages and attendants. Fr. e'quiper, 
to attire. 

P. 57, 1. 284. For. In exchange for. 

P. 57, 1. 287. Plain. Not meaning devoid of beauty, which 
would be a contradiction, but simple and modest. 

P. 57, 1. 293. Solicitous to bless. By giving her hand in mar- 
riage, 

P. 57, 1. 298. Vistas. Extended prospects. Especially applied to 
views through avenues of trees. 

P. 58, 1. 316. Artist. In the sense of artisan, or workman. 

P. 58, 1. 317. Pomps. Here meaning processions. From the 
Greek pempo, to send. 

P. 58, 1. 319. Dome. Here used by synecdoche for the entire 
palace. 

P. 58, 1. 322. The torches glare. Before the lighting of streets, 
people of fashion were attended in the streets at night by torch-bear- 
ers or link-boys. 

P. 58, 1. .330. Sweet as the prinnrose peeps beneath the thorn. 
So good a judge as William Black declares that the sentiment which 
a poetic imagination can infuse into surrounding objects never re- 
ceived happier expression than in this line. It truly represents that 
mysterious something in a combination of words which we call 
poetry. 



78 OLIVER GOLDSMITH. 

P. 59, ]. 344. The wild Altama. The Altamaha, one of tlie 
boundaries of Georgia. This colonj- was settled in 1732 bj' General 
Oglethorpe, whom Goldsmith knew. 

P. 59, 1. 355. Crouching tigers. Goldsmith's ideas of American 
natural liistory were somewhat mixed. By "tiger," he is here sup- 
posed to mean the jaguar, which does not make it much better, as thig 
is a South American animal. It is possible that he may have heard 
of the panther. 

Pp. 59, 60, 11. 363-384. The pathos of emigration has, perhaps^ 
never been so effectively set forth as in these lines. 

P. 60, 1. 368. Seats. Sites, abodes. 

P. 60, 1. 392. A bloated mass, etc. Cf. his discussion of Italy, 
" The Traveller," line 144. 

P. 61, 1. 400. Flaps. One of the class of onomatopoetic, or sound- 
imitative words. From their nature thej- are often effective in poetry, 
since they call up an image to the mind, as here. Other examples of 
such words in this poem are "gabbled," "plashy," "clock," " mur- 
mur," etc. 

P. 61, 1. 411. Dear charming nymph. Still referring to poetry 
personified. Tlie nymphs were female divinities of lesser rank than 
the commonly-known goddesses. 

P. 61, 1. 413. Thou source, etc. Wither's lines to liis muse, in 
his poem of " The Shepherd's Hunting," are often quoted in com- 
parison with this : — 

" And though for her sake I'm crost, 
Though mj- best hopes I have lost," etc. 

P. 61, 1. 418. Torno's Cliffs, or Pambamarca's side. The 
river Tornea flows through a mountainous region in Sweden, and 
Pambamarca is a peak of the Andes in Ecuador. Thus the wish is 
expressed that the influence of poetry may be world-wide. 

P. 61, 1. 419. Equinoctial. Equatorial. 
. Pp. 61, 62, 11. 427-430. These lines were added by Dr. John.soii, 
who was nothing if not profound, and who thought the poem ended 
too tamely. His heavy lines do not well accord with the graceful 
flow of Goldsmith's verse, and we can but wish, as in " The Traveller," 
that he had saved his ponderous assistance until it was more needed. 
The final thought, as the author would have left it, was the natural 
conclusion of a poem whose surpassing sweetness has rendered its 
popularity independent of all changes in literary style. 



THOMAS GRAY. 

(1716-1771.) 



BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH. 

Thomas Gray, one of the most refined and scholarly 
of English poets, was born in London, the son of a broker 
who was quite the opposite of his distinguished son in 
temperament and tastes. An excellent mother helped the 
gentle and studious youth to an education at Eton School 
followed by Cambridge University. He found the study 
of law dry and severe, and gladly went as companion to 
Horace Walpole, son of the Prime Minister of England, 
for a trip on the Continent. Walpole was as gay as his 
friend was serious and scholarly, and they naturally had 
to part company. Gray returned to Cambridge, never 
again to leave it, except for visits to Scotland, Wales, 
and the Lakes of Westmoreland, and three years which 
he spent in London in order to use the British Museum 
more freely. He seems to have passed his life in absorb- 
ing knowledge from the pure love of it, and was extremely 
sensitive and retiring, though with a great capacity for 
warm friendship with choice and congenial spirits. The 
great critic, Taine, with the vivacious disdain which he, 
with his Erench birth, felt for a generally unsocial per- 

79 



80 THOMAS GRAY. 

son, is hardly fair in curtly passing over Gray as " the 
morose hermit of Cambridge." He declined the Poet- 
Laureateship in 1757, but tried unsuccessfully for the 
professorship of Modern History at Cambridge, in 1762. 
Six years later this position was given to him, and its 
income of £400 a year was enjoyed for the rest of his life, 
though he seems to have done but little teaching, and 
did not live to deliver the course of lectures he was care- 
fully preparing. His life was more singularly unevent- 
ful than that of any other important Englishman of 
letters. 

Gray is one of the finest possible examples of how little 
in point of space it takes to win enduring fame in letters, 
provided something of real genius is given to the world. 
He w^'ote three or four excellent odes which still interest 
the scholarly, and one of which, " A Distant Prospect of 
Eton College," established his fame as a poet ; some 
poems in imitation of the verse of the classic age which 
add nothing to his fame except respect for his scholar- 
ship; some letters which remain as examples of good 
taste in thought and expression, but can never be well 
known; and the '-Elegy," the 132 lines of which have 
been sufficient to immortalize him. Lord Byron said : 
" Had Gray written nothing but his Elegy, high as he 
stands, I am not sure that he would not stand higher ; it is 
the corner-stone of his glory. . . . Gray's ' Elegy ' pleased 
instantly and eternally." This poem was prepared with 
the greatest care, having been begun in 1742, revised 
from time to time, and not published until 1751. It is 



BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH. 81 

said to have been mainly composed in the grounds of the 
church at Granchester, about two miles from Cambridge, 
and for the great bell of St. Mary's is claimed the honor 
of having been the " curfew." 

Matthew Arnold accounts for Gray's having written so 
little by saying that he, " a born poet, fell upon an age of 
prose." In other words he was out of touch with his 
time and was not inspired to write as freely as he might 
have done in an age more given to poetic fancy and 
offering more numerous and appreciative lovers of verse 
than he found. But he surely had no reason to be dis- 
satisfied with the reception of the ''Elegy," which all 
agree to have been immediate, enthusiastic, and wide- 
spread. It went through four editions in two months, 
and eleven in less than two years. It seems rather that 
Gray was an exceptional individual in very many ways, 
whose finely-grained nature would have found much to 
grate upon it in any age, and whose claim to great re- 
nown is a gem crystallized from years of rapt thought. 
It is very probable that he could not have repeated this 
success under any circumstances, and quite unnecessary 
that he should have done so. The "Elegy" makes his 
fame secure. 



ELEGY 

IN A COUNTRY CHURCHYARD. 



Thp: curfew tolls the knell of parting day, 
The lowing herd winds slowly o'er the lea, 

The plowman homeward plods his weary way 
And leaves the world to darkness and to me. 

Now fades the glimmering landscape on the sight, 5 

And all the air a solemn stillness holds, 
Save where the beetle wheels his droning flight. 

And drowsy tinklings lull the distant folds; 

Save that from yonder ivy-mantled tower 

The moping owl does to the moon complain 10 

Of such as, wandering near her secret bower, 

Molest her ancient solitary reign. 

Beneath those rugged elms, that yew-tree's shade, 
Where heaves the turf o'er many a mold'ring heap, 

Each in his narrow cell forever laid, 15 

The rude forefathers of the hamlet sleep. 

The breezy call of incense-breathing morn. 

The swallow twittering from the straw-built shed, 

The cock's shrill clarion, or the echoing horn, 

No more shall rouse them from their lowly bed. 20 

82 



ELEGY IN A COUNTRY CHUECHYARD. 83 

For them no more the blazing hearth shall buriij 

Or busy housewife ply her evening care; 
No children run to lisp their sire's return, 

Or climb his knees the envied kiss to share. 

Oft did the harvest to their sickle yield, 25 

Their furrow oft the stubborn glebe has broke ; 

How jocund did they drive their team a-field ! 

How bowed the woods beneath their sturdy stroke ! 

Let not Ambition mock their useful toil. 

Their homely joys and destiny obscure ; 30 

Nor Grandeur hear, with a disdainful smile, 

The short and simple annals of the poor. 

The boast of heraldry, the pomp of power. 
And all that beauty, all that wealth e'er gave, 

Await alike the inevitable hour : — 35 

The paths of glory lead but to the grave. 

Nor yon, ye proud, impute to these the fault. 
If Memory o'er their tomb no trophies raise. 

Where, through the long-drawn aisle and fretted vault, 
The pealing anthem swells the note of praise. 40 

Can storied urn or animated bust 

Back to its mansion call the fleeting breath ? 

Can Honor's voice provoke the silent dust. 

Or Flattery soothe the dull cold ear of Death ? 

Perhaps in this neglected spot is laid 45 

Some heart once pregnant with celestial fire ; 



84: THOMAS GRAY. 

Hands that the rod of empire might have swayed, 
Or waked to ecstasy the living lyre. 

But Knowledge to their eyes her ample page, 

Kich with the spoils of time, did ne'er unroll : 50 

Chill Penury repressed their noble rage, 
And froze the genial current of their soul. 

Full many a gem of purest ray serene 

The dark unfathomed caves of ocean bear ; 

Full many a flower is born to blush unseen, 55 

And w^aste its sweetness on the desert air. 

Some village-Hampden, who with dauntless breast 

The little tyrant of his fields withstood. 
Some mute inglorious Milton, here may rest — 

Some Cromwell, guiltless of his country's blood. 60 

Th' applause of listening senates to command, 

The threats of pain and ruin to despise, 
To scatter plenty o'er a smiling land, 

And read their history in a nation's eyes. 

Their lot forbade : nor circumscribed alone 65 

Their growing virtues, but their crimes confined ; 

Forbade to wade through slaughter to a throne, 
And, shut the gates of mercy on mankind ; 

The struggling pangs of conscious truth to hide. 

To quench the blushes of ingenuous shame, 70 

Or heap the shrine of Luxury and Pride 
With incense kindled at the Muse's flame. 



ELEGY IN A COUNTRY CHURCHYARD. 85 

Far from the madding crowd's ignoble strife, 
Their sober wishes never learned to stray ; 

Along the cool sequestered vale of life 75 

They kept the noiseless tenor of their way. 

Yet even these bones from insult to protect, 

Some frail memorial still erected nigh, 
With uncouth rhymes and shapeless sculpture decked, 

Implores the passing tribute of a sigh. 80 

Their name, their years, spelt by the unlettered Muse, 

The place of fame and elegy supply; 
And many a holy text around she strews, 

That teach the rustic moralist to die. 

For who, to dumb forgetfulness a prey, 85 

This pleasing, anxious being e'er resigned. 

Left the warm precincts of the cheerful day, 
Nor cast one longing, ling'ring look behind ? 

On some fond breast the parting soul relies, 

Some pious drops the closing eye requires ; 90 

E'en from the tomb the voice of nature cries ; 
E'en in our ashes live their wonted fires. 

For thee, who, mindful of th' unhonored dead, 
Dost in these lines their artless tale relate, 

If chance, by lonely Contemplation led, 95 

Some kindred spirit shall inquire thy fate, 

Haply some hoary-headed swain may say, 
" Oft have we seen him at the peep of dawn, 



86 



THOMAS GRAY. 



Brushing with hasty steps the dews away, 

To meet the sun upon the upland lawn. 100 

'' There at the foot of yonder nodding beech, 
That wreathes its old fantastic roots so high, 

His listless length at noontide would he stretch, 
And pore upon the brook that babbles by. 

" Hard by yon wood, now smiling as in scorn, 105 

Mutt'ring his wayward fancies, he would rove ; 

Xow drooping, woful, wan, like one folorn. 

Or crazed with care, or crossed in hopeless love. 

" One morn I missed him from the customed hill, 

Along the heath, and near his fav'rite tree. 110 

Another came ; nor yet beside the rill, 
Nor up the lawn, nor at the wood was he. 

" The next, w^ith dirges due, in sad array. 

Slow through the churchway path we saw him borne, — 
Approach and read, for thou canst read, the lay 115 

Graved on the stone beneath yon aged thorn. 

" There scattered oft, the earliest of the year, 
By hands unseen are showers of violets found ; 

The redbreast loves to build and warble there, 

And little footsteps lightly print the ground." 120 



ELEGY IN A COUNTRY CHURCHYARD. 87 

The Epitaph. 

Here rests his head upon the lap of Earth, 
A youth, to Fortune and to Fame unknown : 

Fair Science frowned not on his humble birth, 
And Melancholy marked him for her own. 

Large was his bounty, and his soul sincere ; 125 

Heaven did a recompense as largely send : 

He gave to Misery (all he had) a tear, 

He gained from Heaven ('twas all he wished) a friend. 

No further seek his merits to disclose. 

Or draw his frailties from their dread abode, 130 

(There they alike in trembling hope repose,) 

The bosom of his Father and his God. 



NOTES ON ELEGY IN A COUNTRY 
CHURCHYARD. 



Structure of the Poem. — This poem is in elegiac stanza, so 
called from its use in elegies or poems of mourning for tlie dead, or at 
least of plaintive nature. It is in iambic pentameter, for discussion of 
which see page ()5, arranged in quatrains, or four-line stanzas, with 
alternate rhymes. Accent is a natural law of speech for dividing it 
into convenient and agreeable sections, and here we have an accented 
syllable at the end of each of the five metrical feet in a line. Nearly 
every foot is an iambus, y^ _/., and by rule each line must close with 
one, so that its concluding syllable has cadence, or more or less falling 
inflection, with a slight stress of the voice. It is this regular succession 
of accented and unaccented syllables, never to be made so pronounced 
in reading as to give the unpleasant sing-song effect, that, independent 
of rhyme, distinguishes poetry from prose. This iambic movement 
gives a dignified effect, as of a chant, or procession, which well fits it 
for elegiac stanza, a form of verse pronounced by Dryden to be the 
most noble of which the English language is capable. This is only the 
opinion of one great writer, but all may see that it has much greater 
variety and stateliness than the rhymed couplet, for which see also 
page 65, in wliich the "Traveller" and the "Deserted Village" were 
written. The poem is scanned thus : — 

Can sto I ried urn || or an | i-ma | terl bust 
Back to I its man | sion call 1 the fleet | ing breath? 
Can Hon | or's voice || pro-voke | the si | lent dust. 
Or Flat I tevj soothe | the dull | cold ear | of Death ? 

As shown here, an apparently separate short syllable may in scanning 
have to be slurred, or passed lightly over in combination with the 
following one. 

88 



NOTES ON ELEGY. 89 

Outline of the Poem 

Lines 1-12. Evening's coming described. 

13-16. The Churchyard and its occupants. 

17-24. The certainty that death ends earthly activity. 

25-28. The vigor in life of those now in tlieir graves, recalled by 
way of contrast. 

29-40. Death the common lot of high as well as low. 

41-44. The futility of praise when life is gone. 

45-76. Force of circumstances, and not necessarily lack of 
ability on the part of those lying in the churchyard, viewed as the 
cause of their failure to achieve prominence, and their claim to honor 
recognized. 

77-84. The stones and epitaphs that mark the graves. 

85-94. Human reluctance to depart from life. 

95-120. The author turns in imagination to what may be remem- 
bered of him when he, too, shall have passed on. 

121-i;)2. The fancied epitaph of the author, in which he char- 
acterizes his own temperament and life. 



All poetry worthy of our attention must be approached sympatheti- 
cally, as it is the product of intense feeling and imagination. To get 
the most from the "Elegy," call up the mental picture of what im- 
pressed the poet at the beginning of his verse — the growing darkness, 
the home-coming herds, the wearied laborer returning from his toil — 
and think of the added effect of the solemn evening bell. The close of 
day, the passing of a natural unit of conscious and active life, is con- 
ducive to sober reflection, and this poem, carefully memorized, will 
gain much in meaning and power by being repeated aloud in the still 
twilight. 

These notes are not in the least intended to enable one to dispense 
with the constant use of the dictionary, but only to aid in grasping the 
full meaning of a wonderfully thoughtful poem, and are but the begin- 
ning of what may be done along the same lines. They are suggested 
by experience, and where they are explicit, it is from a well-founded 
belief that many a faithful student of English suffers because the 
editors of his texts, in their laudable desire to encourage original re- 
search, are not sufficiently elementary with him. 



p. 82, 1. 


10. 


P. 82, 1. 


13. 


P. 82, 1. 


13. 


P. 82, 1. 


U. 


P. 82, 1. 


l(i. 


in censure. 




P. 82, 1 


. 16, 



90 THOMAS GRAY. 

Page 82, Line 1. Curfew. A bell anciently rung in England at 
eight o'clock in the evening to warn people to put out their fires and 
go to bed. A Norman word, from the French covvre feu, " cover the 
fire," and a custom intended to protect people against the loss of their 
homes by burning. 

P. 82, 1. 4. The world. That part of the world which the poet has 
within view. An instance of the figure of speech called synecdoche. 
P. 82, 1. 8. Drowsy. Sleep-inspiring, from the monotony of sound. 
Moping. Of dull or stupid appearance. 
Rugged. Uneven in surface ; with rough trunks. 
That yew-tree's shade. " Beneath " is understood. 
Heaves. Rises, showing that a grave is there. 
Rude. Lacking the advantage of polish — not used 

Hamlet. " Home " with the diminutive suffix -let. 
A village, the little home, or cluster of homes, of those living there. 

P. 82, 1. 19. Echoing horn. BloAvn by huntsmen following hounds 
on horseback in the early morning. An allusion to the universal fond- 
ness of English country people for field sports. 

P. 83, 1. 22. Ply her evening care. Be busy with, the duties of a 
housewife preparing the evening meal for her husband returning from 
work. 

P. 83, 1. 23. Sire's. Father's. Derived from a French word mean- 
ing "master," and thus applied to the head of the family. 

P. 83, 1. 27. Jocund. Cheerily. An adjective used for an adverb. 

P. 83, 1. 27. A-field. To the field, in which they were to labor 
with the joy that the well and strong take in*heir work. 

P. 83, 1. 29. Let not, etc. Let not those who seek to be prominent 
despise those who patiently do the humble, necessary work of the world. 

P. 83, 1. 33. The boast of heraldry. Meaning those proud of 
descent from high families, distinguished by coats of arms and crests 
showing the renown of past generations, and of which the science was 
called heraldry, because the heralds or messengers of the great drew 
or emblazoned these designs and knew the meaning of the illustrious 
deeds they represented and the rank they indicated. 

P. 83, 1. 36. The paths of glory, etc. It is said that while wait- 
ing for daybreak on the night before his attack upon Quebec in Sep- 
tember, 1759, General Wolfe repeated the stanza of which this is the 



NOTES ON ELEGY, 91 

concludiug liue, and remarked to his staff officers, "Gentlemen, I 
would rather have written those lines than to have the glory of beat- 
ing the French to-morrow." 

P. 83, 11. 37-40. Nor you, etc. Meaning: "Do not think less of 
them, you that are proud, if friends have not raised grand monuments 
to their memory in large and finely decorated cathedrals." 

P. 83, 1. 38. Trophies were originally the weapons taken from an 
enemy who had turned in flight (Lat. trepho, "turn"). Monuments 
were made of these weapons to celebrate victories, just as captured 
cannon have been used in modern times. 

P. 83, 1. 41. Urn. A receptacle for holding the ashes of the dead 
in times when cremation was usual. These urns would be inscribed 
with mention of one's rank and deeds, telling the story of his life, 
hence stoned urn. 

P. 83, 1. 41. Animated bust. Lifelike representation in marble 
of the head and shoulders of one held in memory. 

P. 83, 1. 43. Provoke. Arouse, with no sense of irritation, as 
understood by the present use of the word, but in the exact sense of 
its Latin origin, provoco, call forth. 

P. 83, 1. 46. Pregnant. Full of, and longing to give it forth to 
the world. 

P. 83, 1. 46. Celestial fire. The spirit of poetry, viewed as di- 
vine, or a gift from heaven. 

P. 84, 1. 47. Rod of empire. The king's sceptre. Originally a 
staff upon which an aged man might lean, as in the earliest or patri- 
archal system of government, the head of a tribe was at first the one 
from whom all were descended, and later, naturally aged before he 
would succeed to leadership by inheritance. 

P. 84, 1. 48. Ecstasy. A degree of delight which strikes one silent 
with enjoyment by absorbing the entire mind and attention. 

P. 84, 1. 48. Lyre. A kind of harp used in ancient times to 
accompany the chanting or reciting of poetry. The "living lyre" 
would be one thrilling its hearers by its lifelike tones, with the min- 
strel inspired to the exercise of his best powers by the excellence of 
the poetry. 

P. 84, 1. 49. Knowledge. The personification of what the men of 
all time have learned and recorded in books. 

P. 84, 1. 49. Their. Referring to " rude forefathers " in 1. 16. 

P. 84, 1. 50. Spoils of time. Wisdom and learning rescued from 



92 THOMAS GBAY. 

time, the destroyer, by the art of writing, in the sense of " spoils of 
war," or things taken from an enemy. 

P. 84, 1. 50. Unroll. In the manner of using an ancient book 
made of a long strip of paper or parchment with a roller at each end, 
so that a succeeding page was opened to the reader by unrolling from 
the right-hand roller, while rolling up with left hand one closed the 
preceding page. 

P. 84, 1. 51. Chill penury. The cold, stern necessity of using 
their time and strength in toiling for daily bread. 

P. 84, 1. 51. Rage. Not meaning anger, but enthusiasm, which 
unrepressed or unchecked by circumstances might have caused their 
feelings to surge towards the accomplishment of some noble object, as 
the sea rages or swells. 

P. 84, 1. 52. Genial. Cheerful. The poet has in mind a frozen 
stream that would be a leaping, laughing brook had not its current 
been stopped by frost. 

P. 84, 1. 57. Hampden (John). Cousin to Oliver Cromwell and 
equally firm in his opposition to Charles I. He early became conspicu- 
ous in resisting the payment of a tax called " ship money," for which 
he was arrested and tried. He became a colonel in the war which led 
to the dethronement and execution of the king, but was mortallj' 
wounded in an engagement near Oxford in 1(343. 

P. 84, 1. 58. The little, etc. The thought is that perhaps this 
humble man might have shown just as bold a spirit against some small 
village oppression as Hampden did against a great and national one. 

P. 84, 1. 59. Mute inglorious 3Iilton. Some one who might 
have been an author worthy to be classed with Milton, had he had 
opportunity to develop. Not all will agree that great ability to write 
can be wholly suppressed by any conditions of life, but this need not 
lessen our admiration for the general ju.stice of these lines, which are 
in keeping with the finely democratic spirit of the whole poem. 

P. 84, 1. 60. Some CroniAvell. Some one who might have had 
Cromwell's ability as leader, but had no chance to show it, and so 
died without having caused bloodshed. 

P. 84, 1. 65. Their lot forbade. "Forbade" of course governs 
the four infinitive phrases in lines 61-64, each infinitive ("to com- 
mand," etc.) needing to have the pronoun " them " undei'Stood before it 
to complete the construction. The thought in lines 65-72 is that while 
the lot, or condition in life in which these humble village people hap- 



93 
NOTES ON ELEGY. 



penea to .e placed, »ay have ^^^^^f^^^^:^^^-^ 
beueflcial to t!,e world, and may *'« "^™ by perhaps beiug leaders 
Kept them from doing great -™4"^X°; onf the necessity of false- 
in Moody wars or --« /"'''^ f' ^reless in striving for unworthy 
hood and hecommg ^ ^'l^,^ ,„a literary attainments a so 
prominence. Their laoK ° insincere and flattering 

kept them from the te™Pta -» '^.^ „<„, t„ „e paid well for i 
words ahont the 1"=^""°"^^"* ,'"°"ially contemptible to Gray, and 
- something that 7°"''' 7" Xi,.stances in mind, 
of which he may have had spe'- "« Calculated to make one mad 

p 85 1 7S. Madding. Disturbing. 

'"rrrr^-Xhecontinuedcoin^.^.^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^ 

-- '-Ji gyer:n7:::^th7::o"h\ve ane monnments, 

r/a^Lrsal-ed hy -■»--""• Mnse." one of the nine 

P. 85, 1. 81. The "">f *«'f ,X';„t ,,ts and sciences, among 

goddesses supposed to look a tte diffeie. ^^^^^ ^^^ ^^^ ^1,„, 

thiol, were the various fom o 1°^^^^ ,, ,by™es, although 

r:- :::err irr:Slt:n^ educated to do s„ except in an 
awkward manner. ^^^^^^ sl,e has inspired to 

.rftet.:e tl ^iV ^^ '"-^'^ ^ ' "^ '^^ ^'- 

^T85, 11. 85-88. rcwucetc. ^^j;:::^^t:z 

Jabo'ut to die without ^^;^'2^^t^ .oes'not shine and 
go below the surface of the eaitn, 

there is no daylight?" dutiful tears are ex- 

P. 8.5, 1. i». some P«"'« ^™P':„,f;y „atnral affection to the 
peeted to fall '^'>«^'^;^'^l^'L a«ec.ion though the object 
departing one, and A^no wm 
ot H is^n the^tomb^__ ^^^^^ ^^^ ^^^^ ^^^^ y,„3,,, gee " Outline," at 

"^'^tT^' KlndreTspirit. Some one with the same fondness 
for lonely meditation. _ meaning a farm-servant. 

p 81 1 97. Swam. A oaxon 
He!; usk to mean any dweller in the country. 



94 THOMAS GRAY, 

> 

P. 86, 1. 104. Pore. Look steadily, as though lost in thought. 

P. 86, 1. 106. Wayward fancies. Thoughts conceived just as 
his own way or inclination led ; hence peculiar, and hard to be con- 
trolled by customs or views of others. 

P. 86, 1. 107. Wan. Past participle of the old verb loane, to 
diminish; hence, worn, tired out. 

P. 86, 1. 109. Customed. An unusual form of accustomed, made 
necessary by the metre of the jioem. 

P. 86, 1. 113. The next. Next morning. 

P. 86, 1. 113. Dirges due. AVith all the appropriate arrangements 
for the funeral. The word "dirge" comes from a funeral service in 
Latin, beginning, " Dirige, Domine, nos," "Direct (or guide) us, O 
Lord." 

P. 87, 1. 124. Melancholy. The personification of a gloomy 
frame of mind. . 

P. 87, 1. 125. Bounty. His disposition to do good to others, 

P. 87, 1. 126. Recompense. God rewarded him for his generous 
feeling tow^ard others by giving him all he wished for. 

P. 87, 1. 130. Dread abode. The grave. Let his faults remain 
out of sight and out of mind. 

P. 87, 1. 131. They alike. Both his merits and his frailties. 



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Locke — The Conduct of the Understanding „ , . .25 

Longfellow — Evangelirje ..... oo. .25 

Macaulay — Essays on Milton and Addison . . , - .25 

Milton — Minor Poems 

Arnold — Sohrab and Ruscum 

Pope — Iliad, Books I., VI., XXII., and XXIV= „ o .25 

Ruskin — Sesame and Lilies . . . o . = - .25 

Scott — The Lady of the Lake ...... .25 

Shakespeare — The Merchant of Venice c . . c .2« 

Macbeth ........ .25 

As You Like It ...,.., .25 

A Midsummer Night's Dream . , o .25 

Julius Ceesar ...... .25 

f'enuyson— Gareth & Lynette, Lancelot & Elaine, ana 

Passing of Arthur ...... .25 

The Princess » . -25 



[ One volume , < .25 



SIBLEY & COMPANY, 

PUBLISHERS. 
BOSTON. CHICAGO. 



THE 



Students' Series of English Classics. 



LIBRARY EDITION. 



LIST PHICE 

Addison— The Sir Roger de Coverley Papers . , . $0,35 

Arnold — Sohrab and Ruptum 25 

Bates — Ballad Book , . - .60 

Burke — Speech on Conciliation -with America . , , .25 

Carlyle — The Diamond Necklace , .35 

Essay on Burns ......,„ .25 

Coleridge — The Ancient Mariner ..,,,. .25 
Cooper — The Last of the Mohicans . . . . . .50 

De Quincey — The Revolt of the Tartars 35 

Dry den, Burns, Wordsw^orth, and Browning— Selections .35 

Dryden— Palamon and Arcite 35 

Eliot — Silas Marner 35 

Goldsmith — The Traveller and the Deserted Village . .25 
The Vicar of Wakefield ..... .35 

Irving — Isaac Thomas's Selections from 60 

Johnson — Rasselas 35 

Lamb — The Essays of Elia, Selections 35 

Longfello"W — Evangeline . .35 

Lowell — The Vision of Sir Launfal, and other selections .25 

Macaulay — Essay on Lord Clive 35 

Essays on Milton and Addison 36 

Second Essay on the Earl of Chatham „ . .35 

Life of Samuel Johnson 25 

Milton — Minor Poems 25 

Paradise Lost, Books I. and II. 35 

Ruskin — Introduction to the Writings of (Scudder) ' . .50 

ScOuu — The Lady of the Lake 35 

Marmion o c .35 

Shakespeare — A Midsummer Night's Dream . c c .35 
Macbeth ........ .35 

As You Like It . ....<,. .35 

The Merchant of Venice . . « . .35 

Tennyson — Elaine « o .25 

The Princess . . . » . . . . .35 
Webster— First Bunker Hill Oration 25 



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PUBLISHERS. 
BOSTOiv CHICAGQo 



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